The tassel is a common, poor creature of worsted yarns and strands wrapped about a clumsy mold of wood. James of the Beads scans it narrowly as it lies in his hand. At last he turns it, and the fringe falls away from the wooden mold. There is a little “3” burned upon the wood. James of the Beads exhibits this sacred sign to Reed and Rand; the while his excited interest deepens. Then he counts the strands of worsted which constitute the fringe. There are eighty-one! “Three times three times three times three!” and James of the Beads draws a deep breath. Who might resist these spectral manifestations of “Three!” James of the Beads turns from the window like one whose decision is made. Without a word he takes a slip of paper from his pocket book and going to the table writes his name on its back. It is a pleasant-seeming paper, this slip; and pleasantly engraved and written upon. No less is it than a New York draft drawn on the City National Bank by a leading Chicago concern for an even one hundred thousand dollars. James of the Beads places it in the hands of Rand. “To-morrow should be the luckiest of days,” says James of the Beads. “I must not lose it. I must consider to-morrow and arrange to set afoot certain projects which I’ve had in train for some time. As to the races, Rand, take the draft and put it all on Roysterer.” “Man alive!” remonstrates the amazed Rand; “it’s too much on one horse! Moreover, I won’t have time to get all that money down.” “Get down what you can then,” commands James of the Beads. “Plunge! Have no fears! I tell you, so surely as the sun comes up, Roysterer will win.” “The wise ones don’t think so,” urges Rand, who is not wedded to the mystic “Three,” and beholds nothing wondrous in that numeral. “This Roysterer is a seven for one shot.” “And the better for us,” retorts James of the Beads. “Roysterer is to win.” “But wouldn’t it be wiser to split this money and play part of it on Roysterer for a place?” “Never!” declares James of the Beads. “Do you suppose I don’t know what I’m about? I’m worth a million for each year of my life, and I made every stiver of it by the very method I take to discover this horse. Can’t you see that I’m not guessing?--that I have reason for what I do? Roysterer for a place! Never! get down every splinter that Roysterer finishes first.” “Let me ask one question,” observes the cautious Rand. “Do you know the horse?” “Never heard of the animal in my life!” remarks James of the Beads, pouring himself a complacent glass. This he tastes approvingly. “You must pardon me, my friends, I’ve got to write a note or two. I’ve not too much time for a man with twenty things to do, and who must be in the street when business opens to-morrow. Take my word for it; get all you can on Roysterer. If we win, we’re partners; if we lose, I’m alone.” Rand shakes sage, experienced head, while his face gathers a cynical look. Reed and Rand take James of the Beads by the hand and then withdraw.