jockey on his back was bringing up the rear. It continued in the rear during the few moments in which the proceedings were in sight. Suddenly there arose a tumult of many voices.
"By ! He's won!"
The race was over. A man at his side, who had been following it through a pair of glasses, lowered them with a full-mouthed execration.
"Who's won?"
"King Bruce!"
Mr. Major was conscious of a little fluttering in the region of his chest, as though a pulse had all at once been set vibrating. The people were rushing off in all directions. For a moment he stood still. He studied an old envelope which he took from his pocket. Then he started for the ring. Mr. Jacobs received him effusively.
"You are in luck, Mr. Major. You must have had some private information. I shall hardly like to bet with you. How much is it, Mr. Major? Mind you let me down easy." The artist handed in his "brief." "What do you make it, Mr. Blades? Eight thousand four hundred. Is that it, Mr. Major? Why, I shouldn't have so much money in the world if it hadn't been that some other gentlemen have been paying me. I tell you something in confidence. You're the only gentleman I know who was on King Bruce. What are you going to do on the next race, Mr. Major? Back another winner?"
"What price Sweet Violet for the Maiden Plate?"
Mr. Jacobs paused. He sucked the point of his pencil The usual chorus broke out on either side of him: "I'll lay you two to one, sir."
