To all eyes, except those of Dolly, he was of all those at the track the least concerned. To her he turned and, in a low tone, spoke swiftly. “I am so sorry,” he begged. “But, indeed, indeed, I can’t lose. You must have faith in me.” “In you, yes,” returned Dolly in a whisper, “but in your dreams, no!” The horses were passing on their way to the post. Carter brought his face close to hers. “I’m going to break my promise,” he said, “and make one more bet, this one with you. I bet you a kiss that I’m right.” Dolly, holding back her tears, smiled mournfully. “Make it a hundred,” she said. Half of the forty thousand at the track had backed Delhi, the other half, following Carter’s luck and his confidence in proclaiming his convictions, had backed Beldame. Many hundred had gone so far as to bet that the three horses he had named would finish as he had foretold. But, in spite of Carter’s tip, Delhi still was the favorite, and when the thousands saw the Keene polka-dots leap to the front, and by two lengths stay there, for the quarter, the half, and for the three-quarters, the air was shattered with jubilant, triumphant yells. And then suddenly, with the swiftness of a moving picture, in the very moment of his victory, Beldame crept up on the favorite, drew alongside, drew ahead passed him, and left him beaten. It was at the mile. The night before a man had risen in a theatre and said to two thousand people: “The favorite will lead for the mile, and give way to Beldame.” Could they have believed him, the men who now cursed themselves might for the rest of their lives have lived upon their winnings. Those who had followed his prophecy faithfully, superstitiously, now shrieked in happy, riotous self-congratulation. “At the MILE!” they yelled. “He TOLD you, at the MILE!” They turned toward Carter and shook Panama hats at him. “Oh, you Carter!” they shrieked lovingly. It was more than a race the crowd was watching now, it was the working out of a promise. And when Beldame stood off Proper’s rush, and Proper fell to second, and First Mason followed three lengths in the rear, and in that order they flashed under the wire, the yells were not that a race had been won, but that a prophecy had been fulfilled. Of the thousands that cheered Carter and fell upon him and indeed did tear his clothes off his back, one of his friends alone was sufficiently unselfish to think of what it might, mean to Carter. “Champ!” roared his friend, pounding him on both shoulders. “You old wizard! I win ten thousand! How much do you win?” Carter cast a swift glance at Dolly. He said, “I win much more than that.” And Dolly, raising her eyes to his, nodded and smiled contentedly. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man Who Could Not Lose, by Richard Harding Davis