“It was a great bit of work; ought to make a first-page story.”

And the other groaned again.  “I know—­son of millionaire rides unbroken horse in Wild West show—­and all that sort of thing.  But, good Lord, man, think what it will mean to me?”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, is it?  Your father’ll be proud of you.”

Woodbury looked at him sharply.

“How do you know that?”

“Any man would be.”

“But the notoriety, man!  It would kill me with a lot of people as thoroughly as if I’d put the muzzle of a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger.”

“H-m!” muttered the reporter, “sort of social suicide, all right.  But it’s news, Mr. Woodbury, and the editor—­”

“Expects you to write as much as the rest of the papers print—­and none of the other reporters know me.”

“One or two of them might have.”

“But my dear fellow—­won’t you take a chance?”

Bantry made a wry face.

“Madison Square Garden,” went on Woodbury bitterly.  “Ten thousand people looking on—­gad, man, it’s awful.”

“Why’d you do it, then?”

“Couldn’t help it, Bantry.  By Jove, when that wicked devil of a horse came at my box and I caught a glimpse of the red demon in his eyes—­why, man, I simply had to get down and try my luck.  Ever play football?”

“Yes, quite a while ago.”

“Then you know how it is when you’re in the bleachers and the whistle blows for the game to begin.  That’s the way it was with me.  I wanted to climb down into the field—­and I did.  Once started, I couldn’t stop until I’d made a complete ass of myself in the most spectacular style.  Now, Bantry, I appeal to you for the sake of your old football days, don’t show me up—­keep my name quiet.”

“I’d like to—­damned if I wouldn’t—­but—­a scoop—­”

Anthony Woodbury considered his companion with a strange yearning.  It might have been to take him by the throat; it might have been some gentler motive, but his hand stole at last toward an inner coat pocket.

He said:  “I know times are a bit lean now and then in your game, Bantry.  I wonder if you could use a bit of the long green?  Just now I’m very flush, and—­”

He produced a thickly stuffed bill-fold, but Bantry smiled and touched Woodbury’s arm.

“Couldn’t possibly, you know.”

He considered a moment and then, with a smile:  “It’s a bit awkward for both of us, isn’t it?  Suppose I keep your name under my hat and you give me a few little inside tips now and then on polo news, and that sort of thing?”

“Here’s my hand on it.  You’ve no idea what a load you take off my mind.”

“We’ve circled about and are pretty close to the Garden again.  Could you let me out here?”

The car rolled to an easy stop and the reporter stepped out.

“I’ll forget everything you wish, Mr. Woodbury.”

“It’s an honour to have met you, sir.  Use me whenever you can.  Goodnight.”