270 Making the Running 



judge's box is now passed — it was a near thing indeed. 

 ' Did he get up ? ' is the general question, and everyone 

 answers it a,ccording to his disposition. The sanguine 

 wdio have backed the favourite say ' Yes ' ; the despon- 

 dent say ' No.' Bedford is a good rider, and not likely 

 to misjudge ; yet such mistakes are made ! What 

 number will go up ? Cecil knows both numbers well ; 

 but yet he glances again at his card. 



Port Admiral is No. 1, Chimney Corner No. 8. The 

 judge is leaning out of his box ; a board is put into the 

 frame and hoisted. Cecil can hardly see — the whole 

 l^lace swims before his eyes. ' What is it ? ' 



' No. 8 ! ' 



' Thank you ! ' he gasps out with fervent emphasis, 

 turning to Stebbing by his side. 



' Damnation ! ' is that gentleman's extraordinary 

 response, uttered with scarcely less fervour than Cecil's 

 expression of gratitude ; and the remarkably successful 

 tipster abruptly turns round and walks off to the paddock 

 to see the horses come in. 



Cecil, elated but surprised — for ' Damnation ' is such 

 an odd thing to say when you have spotted and confi- 

 dently backed a winner at 100 to 8— walked after his 

 friend, meeting Douglas on the way. 



' By Jove, old chap,' Douglas said, ' that was exciting, 

 wasn't it ? I thought the winner would just get home ; 

 but Bedford rode a rotten race, you know, and I'm told 

 he had a thousand on. I'm glad I was too late to get 

 out of that tenner. He's a wonderful man, your tame 

 tipster. What's his name ? Who is he ? ' 



Cecil smiled, but did not reply, for he was making a 

 mental calculation, or rather trying to do so, for he had 

 to work it out on his card. ' AYe shall get 100 to 8,' 



