THE EVE OF THE DERBY. 47 



the Spliynx, upon the white flint stones at its base — hardened 

 when the granite boiled and pure carbon became concentrated 

 in Nature's great laboratory — Bill Smoothy closed his book, 

 and entertained the satisfaction of a man having done his duty. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



On the eve of the Derby, Puffy Doddles found himself, 

 through the agency of travelling with Sunshine in a van, 

 breathing, for the first time in his life, the remarkably pure 

 atmosphere of the Surrey hills, in the immediaty vicinity of 

 Epsom. A stable, the usual temporary head quarters of the 

 Great Stable of the North, had been prepared for the reception 

 of the colt by Glitter, dam Comet, by Falling Star, and "the 

 lot " trained by Mr. James Sloper for " the great event ; " but 

 Puffy Doddles cared nothing about "the lot." The anxious 

 solicitude of Robert Top's best lad was concentrated in one of 

 "the lot;" that one, needless be it written, being Sunshine. 



Puffy Doddles was full of thought ; too full, indeed, to 

 prevent an overflow. 



" There you are," said he, stretching out a hand, while the 

 other remained buried in a pocket of his roomy drab knee 

 breeches. " There you are," repeated he, directing the attention 

 of an airy nothing towards Sunshine, who stood in his box, 

 the only palpable auditor of the address, " with a heart as big 

 as a stable bucket, legs like needle-wire, and fit to run for a 

 kingdom or a man's life. You should run for mine," con- 

 tinued Puffy, "if they'd only let me have the mount. Hah ! ' : 

 — and his eyes were fixed upon the ceiling immediately above his 

 head, as he vividly sketched the mental picture — " what a spin 

 that would be ! " 



Sunshine gave no sign as to the sentiment he entertained 

 upon the stake, or the effort he would make to win it, but 



