, how queer! Your
guv'nor must be going to ride."

"What! Nonsense! Something to turn me off the scent. I will have my
money back."

"You won't, Master Trimmer--not a cent; and look here, if you make that
row you'll have Sir Hilton out here to know what's the matter."

"Sir Hilton?" cried the man, staring wildly.

"Yes; he's up there in number one, dressing for the race."

"A lie! An excuse! Give me my money!" and he clutched at the trainer
so fiercely that the bar and chamber maids came to the bar door to see.

"Ony a gent a bit upset about a bit o' coin, my dears. Here, Mary, tell
Mr Trimmer, here, who's dressing in number one."

"Sir Hilton Lisle, sir," replied the maid, and Trimmer's hands dropped
from the trainer's coat. "Anyone with him, my gal?"

"Yes, sir. Mark Willows, Sir Hilton's groom."

The agent dropped into a chair, looking as if he were going to have a
fit.

"Gent's a bit poorly. Excitement. That'll do, my gals. Stop, one of
you bring him a nip of my gin and bitters."

The two maids, well accustomed to such scenes, retired into the bar, one
of them returning with a glass upon a tray, and waiting to be paid, as
Trimmer seized the liquor and gulped it down.

"All right, my dear; my treat," said the trainer, and the next minute
the two men were alone.

"Then it's true?" faltered the agent, as he set down the glass.

"Yes, all true. Your guv'nor's going to ride La Sylphide, and a hundred
to one he wins."

"And you never told me, an old friend," said Trimmer, reproachfully.

"No friendship in betting, sir. I stand to lose a pile over the job,
and I must make a bit back. Did I ask you to put your money on Jim
Crow?"

"No--but--"

"No, but!" said the trainer, scornfully. "Take it as I do. You don't
hear me 'owl."

Trimmer, who was as white as a sheet, sat panting, as he stared hard at
the trainer, and then glanced up over his shoulder at the gallery.

"C'rect card, gentlemen--all the runners, sir," came from the outside to
break the silence, backed up by the murmur from the course.

"Sam," whispered the agent at last, and he leant towards the trainer,
"do you really stand to lose five thou'?"

"Every penny of it," growled the trainer, with a terrible oath, and a
look which bespoke his sincerity. "What's your twopenny bet to that?
This is your somethinged guvnor's doing. Confound him! I'd poison him
if I could."

"Ha!" sighed Trimmer.

"It was a dead certainty,