“No—that is, I think not,” said the Major, “for I heard something once to the effect that he was much in love with Judge Taggart’s daughter. By the way,” he continued, “that young lady is, I believe, married now.” “Yes,” replied the stranger. “I knew her—Miss Cassie.” “They’re off!” came the shout from the crowd below, and instantly there was a general careening of necks from the balcony. A minute later and the crowd below surged toward the railing of the track and gathered about the judges’ stand, as the horses rushed toward the wire. Then there was a wild commotion, followed later by a general movement in the direction of the “board pencilers.” Thus the evening passed on, race by race, with a repetition of the usual scenes and events, until at last there sounded the bugle call for the handicap. There was a distinct bustle and stir now among the expectant throng, which said plainly that the race of the evening was about to come off. “Colonel Townsend,” asked the Major, “have you seen Grannan since his arrival to-day?” “Yes,” responded the Colonel. “I had a short talk with him this morning. I’m sorry for Grannan,” he continued, “he has been singularly unlucky of late, and he says there seems to be no end of it.” At the mention of the name of Grannan the mistress leaned over and listened. She had long been sitting motionless, stolid, oblivious to everything save her thoughts. Some one touched her upon the arm, and turning sharply, with a startled look in her face, she beheld the outstretched hand of Thomas, holding a batch of tickets. “The trainer said, ma’am, to tell you that he just could not help it, ma’am; when he saw twenty to one posted against Cassandra’s chances, he made the ‘pencilers’ rub it off, and here, ma’am are the tickets. Mr. Grannan, he said, had placed a large sum on the Empress,” continued Thomas, “and that he took the liberty to purchase pools on Cassandra at the tempting odds.” She clutched the tickets nervously in her hand and quickly thrust them into her purse, trembling visibly as she did so. “Ah,” said Colonel Townsend, “we were speaking of Grannan. There is his mare now—Empress—out for the handicap. I think, though,” he continued, “that Helen Orland—Briggs’ mare—is going to have decidedly the best of it in the going to-day.” “Well,” said the Major, “I like Rosalind or Houston’s entry—Geraldine.” “What’s the matter with Annabel?” chimed in the stranger. “There she is now. She certainly looks a winner, and the distance just suits her.” A wild cheer now suddenly burst from the crowd as Helen Orland passed in front of the judges’ stand. She was evidently a favorite with the spectators, for the cheer was repeated. “Ho! ho!” shouted the Major. “She is going to start. There comes the ‘little ghost.’” And simultaneously with his words, a bevy of swipes and stable boys set up a yell. “Mother of Moses!” ejaculated the stranger. “Major, but you were right. She is a dream.”