and the bookmaker who paid
him added the genial advice: "Put that little lot where the flies
can't get at it." The man could afford to be affable, seeing that
the bet was the only one in his book against the horse's name. The
King's horse and Grimalkin were the public favorites, but both were
hopelessly shut in at Tattenham Corner, and neither showed in the
front rank at any stage of a fast run race. When Medenham climbed the
hill again, hot and uncomfortable in his leather clothing, Mrs. Devar
actually welcomed him with an expansive smile.

"What odds did you get me?" she cried, as soon as he was within
earshot.

"A hundred and twenty-five pounds to five, madam," he said.

"Oh, what luck! You must keep the odd five pounds, Fitzroy."

"No, thank you. I hedged on Vendetta, so I am still winning."

"But really, I insist."

He handed her a bundle of notes.

"You will find a hundred and thirty pounds there," he said, and
she understood that his refusal to accept her money was final. She
was intensely surprised that he had given her so much more than
she expected, and the first unworthy thought was succeeded by a
second--how dared this impudent chauffeur decline her bounty?

Cynthia pouted at him.

"Your Tomkinson is a fraud," she said.

"Your Grimalkin was well named," said he.

"That remark is very cutting, I suppose, Fitzroy."

"Oh, no. I merely meant to convey that a cat is not a racehorse."

"Poor fellow," mused Cynthia, "he is vexed because he lost. I must
make it up to him somehow, but he is such an extraordinary person, I
hardly dare suggest such a thing."

She began to adjust her veil and dust coat.

"If you are ready, Mrs. Devar," she said, "I think we ought to hit the
pike for Brighton."

Mrs. Devar laughed. Fitzroy evidently understood, as he had taken his
seat and the engine was humming.

"Americanisms are most fascinating," she vowed. "I wish you would use
more of them, Cynthia. I love them."

Cynthia was slightly ruffled, though if pressed for a reason she could
hardly have given one.

"Slang is useful occasionally, but I am trying to cure myself of the
habit," she said tartly.

"A picturesque phrase is always pardonable. Oh, is this quite
safe?----"

The Mercury, finding an opening, had shot down the hill with a smooth
celerity that alarmed the older woman. Cynthia leaned back composedly.

"Fitzroy means to reach the road before the police stop the traffic
for the next race," she