veden pricked up his ears, and Smith became frightened. He was
genuinely attached to his young customer, and knew that he was in low
water. He begged him not to be rash....

After some careful calculations, which he made upon a sheet of club
note-paper, Lyveden came to the conclusion that thirty-three birds in
the bush were better than one in the hand. Reckoning a bird at one
hundred pounds and Lyveden's available assets at the same number of
guineas, who is to say he was wrong?

At twenty minutes to five on the eve of the Derby, Lyveden handed a
protesting Smith one hundred and one pounds, to be invested on Blue
Moon--"to win only." The odd note was to bring Smith his reward.

A big bookmaker whom Smith was shaving as usual, at a quarter-past six,
accepted the commission, pocketed the notes with a sigh, and gave the
master-barber forty to one.

Four thousand pounds--in the bush.

That his thirty-three nebulous birds had become forty before they took
flight, Anthony never knew. A man whose sole assets are a Sealyham, a
very few clothes, and twenty-two shillings and sixpence, does not, as a
rule, go to Dale's.

"Young fellow, come here."

Patch came gaily, and Lyveden set him upon his knee.

"Listen," he said. "Once upon a time there was a fool, who came back
from the War. It was extremely foolish, but then, you see, Patch, he
was a fool. Well, after a while he began to feel very lonely. He'd no
relations, and what friends he'd had in the old days had disappeared.
So he got him a dog--this fool, a little white scrap of a dog with a
black patch." The terrier recognized his name and made a dab at the
firm chin. "Steady! Well, yes--you're right. It was a great move.
For the little white dog was really a fairy prince in disguise--such a
pretty disguise--and straightway led the fool into Paradise. Indeed,
they were so happy together, the fool and the dog, that, though no work
came along, nothing mattered. You see, it was a fool's paradise. That
was natural. The result was that one day the fool lifted up his eyes,
and there was a great big finger-post, pointing the way they were
going. And it said WAY OUT. The dog couldn't read, so it didn't worry
him; but the fool could, and fear smote upon his heart. In fact, he
got desperate, poor fool. Of course, if he'd had any sense, he'd 've
walked slower than ever or even tried to turn round. Instead of that,
he ran. Think of it, Patch. _Ran_." The emo