“Evens, Mr. Pendyce,” replied the gentleman with the gold pencil, “to a monkey.”

George booked the bet.  It was not his usual way of doing business, but to-day everything seemed different, and something stronger than custom was at work.

‘I am going for the gloves,’ he thought; ‘if it doesn’t come off’, I’m done anyhow.’

He went to another quietly dressed gentleman with a diamond pin and a Jewish face.  And as he went from one quietly dressed gentleman to another there preceded him some subtle messenger, who breathed the words, ‘Mr. Pendyce is going for the gloves,’ so that at each visit he found they had greater confidence than ever in his horse.  Soon he had promised to pay two thousand pounds if the Ambler lost, and received the assurance of eminent gentlemen, quietly dressed, that they would pay him fifteen hundred if the Ambler won.  The odds now stood at two to one on, and he had found it impossible to back the Ambler for “a place,” in accordance with his custom.

‘Made a fool of myself,’ he thought; ’ought never to have gone into the ring at all; ought to have let Barney’s work it quietly.  It doesn’t matter!’

He still required to win three hundred pounds to settle on the Monday, and laid a final bet of seven hundred to three hundred and fifty pounds upon his horse.  Thus, without spending a penny, simply by making a few promises, he had solved the equation with X.

On leaving the ring, he entered the bar and drank some whisky.  He then went to the paddock.  The starting-bell for the second race had rung; there was hardly anyone there, but in a far corner the Ambler was being led up and down by a boy.

George glanced round to see that no acquaintances were near, and joined in this promenade.  The Ambler turned his black, wild eye, crescented with white, threw up his head, and gazed far into the distance.

‘If one could only make him understand!’ thought George.

When his horse left the paddock for the starting-post George went back to the stand.  At the bar he drank some more whisky, and heard someone say: 

“I had to lay six to four.  I want to find Pendyce; they say he’s backed it heavily.”

George put down his glass, and instead of going to his usual place, mounted slowly to the top of the stand.

‘I don’t want them buzzing round me,’ he thought.

At the top of the stand—­that national monument, visible for twenty miles around—­he knew himself to be safe.  Only “the many” came here, and amongst the many he thrust himself till at the very top he could rest his glasses on a rail and watch the colours.  Besides his own peacock blue there was a straw, a blue with white stripes, a red with white stars.

They say that through the minds of drowning men troop ghosts of past experience.  It was not so with George; his soul was fastened on that little daub of peacock blue.  Below the glasses his lips were colourless from hard compression; he moistened them continually.  The four little Coloured daubs stole into line, the flag fell.