“‘Fairy Queen,’ is the favorite, I believe.” “What did you say, Dick?” “I say Mr. Chisholm Cheke’s ‘Fairy Queen’ is the favorite!” “What favorite? Whose favorite?” “Tut, Drusa! Why the favorite of the turf, of the stables, and of the betting men! The horse upon whose success the most money is staked, the one that is expected to win the Derby!” “But if everybody knows which horse is likely to win the Derby, why does any one ever bet on any other?” “Ah! that I can’t tell,” said Dick, shrugging his shoulders. “Only this,—the favorite does not _always_ win, in fact _seldom_ does, I think; it is generally some dark horse that wins the race.” “Dark horse? Do the dark ones run better than the light ones?” “Oh, Drusa, what a novice you are, my child! I don’t mean a dark-colored horse; I mean a horse kept dark, _perdu_, in retirement, that nobody talks about or hears about, except certain knowing ones.” “And does the dark horse always win?” “No, not always, but often; sometimes some intermediate, honest horse, that is neither bragged about on the one hand, nor ‘kept dark’ on the other, surprises everybody by winning the race, and also occasionally the favorite wins.” “Well, we will not bet; we are all conscientiously opposed to betting; but if we were not, we should stake our money upon the dark horse. But how would we know him?” “We shouldn’t know him at all; none but the few in the secret would know him.” “Come, come, my children, we are being left behind,” said the General, impatiently. “And I do not care much for the winning horse, and that is the truth. But I care a great deal for the human interest in this vast scene! Will the Derby ever go down and pass away, like the other glories of this world? And will we say to our great grandchildren in the Derby of their days: ‘Ah, you should have seen the Derby as it was when we were young!’ Shall we talk so to our descendants, Dick?” “Goodness knows! The Derby may continue to increase in importance; it ought to do so; I hope it may,” replied Dick, as he resumed his seat. Jacob started his horses and they drove down the hill at a very rapid rate. On each side of the road were now to be seen the dustbrown tents of the gypsy wanderers; the decorated booths of the showmen; the tempting fruit-stalls of the costermongers; and among them all, groups of country people and knots of cockneys, and all the heterogeneous assembly of bipeds and quadrupeds that on the Derby Day infest the neighborhood of Epsom. Slowly making their way through all these, our party reached and passed the first barrier (for Epsom Heath is divided off into circles, the entrance to each succeeding one towards the hill or the Grand Stand, commanding a higher and higher price).