A Short Head 109 



exciting finish. ' The favourite doesn't win ! Bowsprit 

 wins ! No, he's beat ! High Street wins ! High Street's 

 won ! What a race ! ' Such were the cries that carae 

 from backers, each in all probability shouting that w^hat 

 he wanted to happen had indeed taken place ; and so the 

 two leaders flashed past the post lengths ahead of the 

 rest. 



' Here, 10 to 1 on High Street ! ' came from a well- 

 known voice in the ring, as with sinking heart and a curse 

 on his lips Clifton turned away ; for this to him meant 

 disaster irreparable unless the El Dorado business turned 

 out even far better than he dared to hope. 



' Good business ! Thanks, old chap ! I can't tell you 



how^ much obliged to you I am ! I thought ' the rest of 



Beauclerk's speech was lost to Clifton's ears, for he had 

 barely time to catch his train — might, indeed, miss it 

 unless by good luck it was late, and his luck was not in 

 to-day, nor were Beauclerk's words of congratulation, 

 based on the assumption that Clifton had backed High 

 Street, welcome to his ears. 



The flyman was on the alert with whip upraised. 

 Clifton, who had rushed away the very moment the 

 horses passed the post, jumped in and they were off. 



' Beg your pardon, sir. Did High Street win ? ' the 

 man asked, turning round. 



' Yes ; get on, damn it, you'll miss the train,' Chfton 

 answered angrily, feeling for his betting book. There it 

 was, no mistake about it— 2,100/. ! He had not half the 

 amount in the world. What a fool he was — and yet it 

 had looked so good ! What was to be done ? 



