The bookmaker referred to his card.

“Four-Pound-the-Second,” he said.  “Give you forties.”

“Forties!” guffawed Old Mat.  “A young giraffe like him, dropped this spring in the Sarah desert under a cocoanut shy.  Four hundred and forties I thought you was goin’ to say.  ’Ark to him!” He appealed to the delighted crowd.  “Offers me forties against my pantomime colt, and ain’t ashamed of himself.  I’d ha’ left him at home in the menadgeree along o’ the two-’eaded calf and the boy with blue hair if I’d known.”

“He’s a powerful great horse, Mr. Woodburn,” smiled the bookie.

“Hoss!” cried the outraged old man. “’Ave you seen him?  He ain’t a hoss at all.  He’s a he-goat.  Only I’ve shave the top of him to took you all in.  He’s comin’ on at the ‘alls to-night after the race.  Goin’ to sit on a stool and sing The Wop ’em Opossum, specially composed by me and Mar for this occasion only.”

He lilted on his way.

* * * * *

By noon the Paddock was filling, and the Carriage Enclosure becoming packed.

People began to blacken the railway embankment, to gather in knots all round the course at likely places, to line the Canal.

In the crowd you could hear the dialects of every county in England mingling with accents of the young countries beyond the seas.

At noon the Duke and his party crossed the Paddock.

“You won’t join us, Mat?” he called.  “I’ve got a saloon on the Embankment.”

“No, sir, thank you,” said the old man.  “Mat’s corner in the Grand Stand’ll find me at home as usual come three o’clock.”

The Duke paused.  He was still hunting the trail.

“If you see Boy before the race, tell her we’ll be glad if she cares to join us.”

The trainer shook his head.

“Thank you kindly, your Grace.  She always goes to the Stand by the Canal Turn when Chukkers is riding.”

There was a chuckle from the bystanders.

“He’s ridin’ this time’ all right, from all I hear,” said the Duke grimly.

“You’re right, sir,” answered the old man.  “Last night he was countin’ his dead in his sleep.  The policeman what was over his door to see no lady kidnap him for his looks heard him and tell me.”

The jockey, who was passing at the moment, stopped.

“Say it agin,” he cried fiercely.

The old trainer was face to face with one of the only two men in the world to whom he felt unkindly.

“Ain’t once enough, then?” he asked tartly.

The jockey walked on his way.

“Ah, you’re an old man, Mr. Woodburn,” he called back. “You take advantage.”

“I may be old, but I am white,” called the old man after him, his blue eye lighting.

“Oh, come, come!” cried the Duke, delighted, as he hurried after his party.  “Where’s Mrs. Woodburn?”

Chukkers joined the two J’s, who were hobnobbing with some of Ikey’s Own under the Grand Stand.