Luckily I was alone; ever since that lunch I had been cutting loose from the old crowd--from all its women, and from all its men except two or three real friends who were good fellows straight through, in spite of their having made the mistake of crossing the dead line between amateur “sport” and professional. I leaned over and tapped Sammy on the shoulder. He glanced round, and when he saw me, looked as if I were a policeman who had caught him in the act. “Howdy, Sam?” said I. “It's been so long since I've seen you that I couldn't resist the temptation to interrupt. Hope your friends'll excuse me. Howdy do, Miss Ellersly?” And I put out my hand. She took it reluctantly. She was giving me a very unpleasant look--as if she were seeing, not somebody, but some _thing_ she didn't care to see, or were seeing nothing at all. I liked that look; I liked the woman who had it in her to give it. She made me feel that she was difficult and therefore worth while, and that's what all we human beings are in business for--to make each other feel that we're worth while. “Just a moment,” said Sam, red as a cranberry and stuttering. And he made a motion to come out of the box and join me. At the same time Miss Anita and the other fellow began to turn away. But I was not the man to be cheated in that fashion. I wanted to see _her_, and I compelled her to see it and to feel it. “Don't let me take you from your friends,” said I to Sammy. “Perhaps they'd like to come with you and me down to look at my horse. I can give you a good tip--he's bound to win. I've had my boys out on the rails every morning at the trials of all the other possibilities. None of 'em's in it with Mowghli.” “Mowghli!” said the young lady--she had begun to turn toward me as soon as I spoke the magic word, “tip.” There may be men who can resist that word “tip” at the race-track, but there never was a woman. “My sister has to stay here,” said Sammy hurriedly. “I'll go with you, Blacklock.”