For an instant the whole tragedy was in view. Freddie, desperate, his teeth shining, his face contorted, whirling along in deadly effort, was twenty feet behind the tall form of old Pop, who, dressed only in his--only in his underclothes--gained with each stride. One grand insane moment, and then Pop had hurled himself against the tape--victor! Freddie, fallen into the arms of some men, struggled with his breath, and at last managed to stammer-- "Say, can't--can't--that old--old--man run!" Pop, puffing and heaving, could only gasp--"Where's my shoes? Who's got my shoes?" Later Freddie scrambled panting through the crowd, and held out his hand. "Good man, Pop!" And then he looked up and down the tall, stout form. "Hell! who would think you could run like that?" The kids were surrounded by a crowd, laughing tempestuously. "How did you know he could run?" "Why didn't you give me a line on him?" "Say--great snakes!--you fellows had a nerve to bet on Pop." "Why, I was cock-sure he couldn't win." "Oh, you fellows must have seen him run before." "Who would ever think it?" Benson came by, filling the midnight air with curses. They turned to jibe him. "What's the matter, Benson?" "Somebody pinched my handkerchief. I tied it up in that string. Damn it." The kids laughed blithely. "Why, hello! Benson," they said. There was a great rush for cabs. Shouting, laughing, wondering, the crowd hustled into their conveyances, and the drivers flogged their horses toward the city again. "Won't Freddie be crazy! Say, he'll be guyed about this for years." "But who would ever think that old tank could run so?" One cab had to wait while Pop and Freddie resumed various parts of their clothing. As they drove home, Freddie said--"Well, Pop, you beat me." Pop said--"That's all right, old man." The kids, grinning, said--"How much did you lose, Benson?" Benson said defiantly--"Oh, not so much. How much did you win?" "Oh, not so much." Old Colonel Hammigan, squeezed down in a corner, had apparently been reviewing the event in his mind, for he suddenly remarked, "Well, I'm damned!" They were late in reaching the Café Colorado, but when they did, the bottles were on the bar as thick as pickets on a fence. THE FIVE WHITE MICE Freddie was mixing a cock-tail. His hand with the long spoon was whirling swiftly, and the ice in the glass hummed and rattled like a cheap watch. Over by the window, a gambler, a millionaire, a railway conductor, and the agent of a vast American syndicate were playing seven-up. Freddie surveyed them with the ironical glance of a man who is mixing a cock-tail.