I don't believe it," announced an elderly member. "This chap of
Densmore's looks like a gentleman and dresses like one. I don't believe
he's a reporter. And he rides like a devil."

"_I_ say there's ridin' and ridin'," proclaimed Kirke. "Some fellers
ride like jockeys; some fellers ride like cowboys; some fellers ride
like gentlemen. I say this reporter feller don't ride like a gentleman."

"Oh, slush!" said another discourteously. "What is riding like a
gentleman?"

Kirke reverted to the set argument of his type. "I'll betcha a hundred
he don't!"

"Who's to settle such a bet?"

"Leave it to Maitland," said somebody.

"I'll leave it to Archie Densmore if you like," offered the bettor
belligerently.

"Leave it to Mr. Masters," suggested Kirke.

"Why not leave it to the horse?"

The suggestion, coming in a level and unconcerned tone from the depths
of the chair in which Banneker was seated, produced an electrical
effect. Banneker spoke only because the elderly member had walked over
to the window, and he saw that he must be discovered in another moment.
Out of the astonished silence came the elderly member's voice, gentle
and firm.

"Are you the visitor we have been so frankly discussing?"

"I assume so."

"Isn't it rather unfortunate that you did not make your presence known
sooner?"

"I hoped that I might have a chance to slip out unseen and save you
embarrassment."

The other came forward at once with hand outstretched. "My name is
Forster," he said. "You're Mr. Banker, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Banneker, shaking hands. For various reasons it did not seem
worth while to correct the slight error.

"Look out! Here's the old man," said some one.

Poultney Masters plodded in, his broad paunch shaking with chuckles.
"'Leave it to the horse,'" he mumbled appreciatively. "'Leave it to the
horse.' It's good. It's damned good. The right answer. Who but the horse
should know whether a man rides like a gentleman! Where's young
Banneker?"

Forster introduced the two. "You've got the makings of a polo-man in
you," decreed the great man. "Where are you playing?"

"I've never really played. Just practiced."

"Then you ought to be with us. Where's Densmore? We'll put you up and
have you in by the next meeting."

"A reporter in The Retreat!" protested Kirke who had proffered the bet.

"Why not?" snapped old Poultney Masters. "Got any objections?"

Since the making or marring of his fortunes, like those o