ace of sentiment, conjoined to a deal of pride, had made him
revive an old-time stake--the Far and Near. It dated back to that
limbo of racing things--"before the war." Banker Hilary's grandfather,
a leader among gentlemen horsemen of that good day, had been of those
who instituted it--a fact upon which no turf scribe had failed to
dilate when telling the glories of the course. The event was, of
course, set down a classic--as well it might be, all things
considered. The founders had framed it so liberally as to admit the
best in training--hence the name. The refounders made conditions
something narrower, but offset that by quadrupling the value.

This was Far and Near day--with a record crowd, and hot, bright summer
weather. The track was well known to be lightning fast, and the entry
list was so big and puzzling that the Far and Near might well prove
anybody's race. There were favorites, of course, also rank outsiders.
One heard their names everywhere in the massed throng that had
overflowed the big stand, the lawn, the free field, and broken in
human waves upon the green velvet of the infield. This by President
Hilary's own order. He had come to the track early, and looked to
everything--with a result that there was no trouble anywhere.

The crowd had been gayly demonstrative through the first two races. It
had watched the third in tense silence--except that moiety of it
ebbing and flowing through the clubhouse. It was the silence of edged
patience. Albeit the early races were fair betting propositions, the
most of those who watched them had come to lay wagers on some Far and
Near candidate--and the Far and Near candidates had been getting their
preliminaries.

They numbered just nineteen. Seventeen had been out when Allys and her
squires stopped under the shade of a tree. Notwithstanding the shadow,
she put up her white parasol, tilting it at just the angle to make it
throw her head and shoulders in high relief. Adair glanced at her,
caught a hard breath, nipped it, then looked steadily down the course
a minute.

Hilary smiled--a smile that got no further than the corners of his red
lips--his eyes, indeed, gloomed the more for it--then turned upon
Allys with: "Pick the winner for us, won't you? You are so delightful
feminine you know nothing of horses, therefore ought to bring us luck.
Say, now, what shall we back?"

"It depends," Allys said, twirling her parasol ever so lightly. "Do
you want to lose? Or do you