He finished his coffee at the club on the morning of the Fourth about ten o’clock, in absolute solitude, and with no one to expect and nothing to anticipate; so he asked for a morning paper and looked up the amusements offered for the Fourth.  There were plenty of excursions with brass bands, and refreshments served on board, baseball matches by the hundred, athletic meetings and picnics by the dozen, but nothing that seemed to exactly please him.

The races sounded attractive, but then he always lost such a lot of money, and the crowd pushed so, and the sun and the excitement made his head ache between the eyes and spoiled his appetite for dinner.  He had vowed again and again that he would not go to the races; but as the day wore on and the solitude of the club became oppressive and the silence of the Avenue began to tell on him, he changed his mind, and made his preparations accordingly.

First, he sent out after all the morning papers and read their tips on the probable winners.  Very few of them agreed, so he took the horse which most of them seemed to think was best, and determined to back it, no matter what might happen or what new tips he might get later.  Then he put two hundred dollars in his pocket-book to bet with, and twenty dollars for expenses, and sent around for his field-glasses.

He was rather late in starting, and he made up his mind on the way to Morris Park that he would be true to the list of winners he had written out, and not make any side bets on any suggestions or inside information given him by others.  He vowed a solemn vow on the rail of the boat to plunge on each of the six horses he had selected from the newspaper tips, and on no others.  He hoped in this way to win something.  He did not care so much to win, but he hated to lose.  He always felt so flat and silly after it was over; and when it happened, as it often did, that he had paid several hundred dollars for the afternoon’s sport, his sentiments did him credit.

“I shall probably, or rather certainly, be tramped on and shoved,” soliloquized Van Bibber.

“I shall smoke more cigars than are good for me, and drink more than I want, owing to the unnatural excitement and heat, and I shall be late for my dinner.  And for all this I shall probably pay two hundred dollars.  It really seems as if I were a young man of little intellect, and yet thousands of others are going to do exactly the same thing.”

The train was very late.  One of the men in front said they would probably just be able to get their money up in time for the first race.  A horse named Firefly was Van Bibber’s choice, and he took one hundred dollars of his two hundred to put up on her.  He had it already in his hand when the train reached the track, and he hurried with the rest towards the bookmakers to get his one hundred on as quickly as possible.  But while he was crossing the lawn back of the stand, he heard cheers and wild yells that told him they were running the race at that moment.