The news spread around the track that evening that Jaundice was to give Lord James a “swell funeral.” Curiosity was aroused. Touts, stable-boys, bookmakers’ helpers, a few jockeys, attended. It happened that Jaundice came to me to consult as to the minister, and I had secured the services of a wonderful little rector who is much interested in all human beings. The funeral was the strangest one I ever attended. The little minister was doing his best to comfort the mourners, but plainly was at a disadvantage because Jaundice was the only mourner. Jaundice, through some instinctive sense of respect for the dead, was standing very awkwardly and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He was weeping for the second time in his life. Finally the little rector read from the service: “He is not dead, but sleeping.” Jaundice started, then stared, reached instinctively for his pocket, and sobbed in a whisper: “Ten dollars will win you twenty-seven if you think old Lord James is only sleeping.” His reversion to instinct raised a laugh. For the first time the assemblage was getting its money’s worth. The little rector was very much shocked. He could not understand that Jaundice meant no disrespect. He argued that no man could live in the United States and be so completely ignorant of religion. I said that Jaundice thought Jesus Christ was a cuss word and that his only knowledge that he possessed an immortal soul was from hearing it God damned by trainers and others. A week later I heard that Jaundice was in a Brooklyn hospital and in bad shape. I went to see him to get for a newspaper the story of a jockey who, while sick to death, rode in a race to win money enough to bury a friend. He was propped up in bed, coughing. The doctor had told me he had but a little time to live. He was glad to see me and inquired how I liked Lord James’ funeral. “Great class to that, Jaundice; best I ever attended.” “No one can’t say that I piked,” he responded, beaming at the praise. “I planted Lord James swell, and his folks can’t ever say I didn’t.” “You’re looking better,” I lied. “Be back on the track pretty soon?” “Lord James won’t beat me more than a neck,” he said without emotion. “Something busted inside me during that race. Have you heard how Doc Grausman is comin’ along? He sure ought to win that stake this week.” Presently he spoke of the little rector. “What do you think of that guy?” he asked, rather contemptuous of the ignorance of the minister. “He thought Lord James was only sleeping, but he wouldn’t back his opinion with coin.” I strove to explain, without much success. “That little guy is all right,” said Jaundice. “Did you hear what he said about Lord James havin’ a chanst on that track he was talking about? Say, Lord James has about as much chanst as I have.” “Everyone has a chance,” I said feebly. “Me?” he asked in surprise. “Sure; the Book says everyone has who repents.”