A NEWMARKET STORY. 



Jess had disappeared, as if incredulous of such unaccountable 

 behaviour being a reality. Then he scratched his head, and 

 found consolation in one of the mild cigarettes which Jess kept 

 for him. He took up the paper she had thrown down on the 

 hearthrug, and began slowly to spell out the predictions, chuck- 

 ling frequently over the forecast of the next day's races. After 

 a while a slipshod maidservant cautiously entered the room, and 

 glancing suspiciously at the drawn curtains, she advanced on tip- 

 toe towards the absorbed jockey. 



' I wur told to give you this if you was alone,' said this 

 bashful maiden, producing a dirty scrap of paper from the recesses 

 of consolidated gown and petticoats, retiring at once in the same 

 mysterious manner, leaving Joe to digest the communication 

 handed to him. 



' Come down to the White Hart at eight sharp. There's a 

 party as wants partickler to have a word with you. All in the 

 way of business straight forrard. — Yours, G. Smith.' 



Joe threw the scrap into the fender, looked at his watch, took 

 up his hat, and departed. Anything was better than a dull 

 evening at home, and he chuckled once more at the notion of the 

 tips which would be demanded from his oracular lips. If Jess 

 only had not gone to bed ! But is she in her room ? Why, 

 then, is the door locked from the outside ? Who was it that 

 stole, half an hour ago, down the creaky little staircase in hooded 

 ulster and low felt hat ? Is it not Jess's face that the lamps of 

 Newmarket's streets flash down upon as a quick decided footstep 

 resounds on the pavement beneath the windows of a large hotel? 



From this hotel there shortly saunters forth, cigar in mouth, 

 a tall man's figure. Without a vestige of timidity the ulster 

 advances towards this uncertain giant. In a low voice, casual 

 enough not to arrest the wrong person, he mutters, 



'Jess?' 



' Yes ; it is Jess.' 



' Anything gone wrong with Joe ?' 



' No. Let us walk on. The walls of Newmarket have ears.' 



' Then what the deuce do you worry a man with such urgent 

 messages for ?' He tossed his cigar away impatiently. 



' I meant to hear the truth from you, and I knew that Satanas 

 was my best bait.' 



* Well, girl ! what do you mean by the truth ?' 



