David was quite his expansive, good-humored self again by the time he and Jimmy reached the fair-grounds. He joked with the little boy about his capacity for pink lemonade and peanuts as he drove his spirited young horse carefully into the crowded enclosure; and Jimmy, all eager and glowing with joyous anticipation, gazed with round eyes at the stirring scene. Everywhere flags fluttered merrily in the wind, and the crash and blare of band-music mingled with the shouts of vendors, the trampling of feet, and the hum of many voices.

“Hello, Dave! Goin’ t’ trot that nag o’ yourn?” called a voice from among the crowd of men and boys lined up along the race-track.

“Oh, hello, Bud Hawley! That you?” responded Dave, pulling in his horse. “Why, no; I hadn’t thought of it. It’s too late to enter; isn’t it?”

The Barford liveryman, tipping a solemn wink at the men near him, slowly advanced and stood, his hat pulled low over his eyes, examining David’s horse. He passed an experienced hand over his withers, felt his hock-joints, lifted his feet, and stared critically at the frogs and the setting of his shoes. Then he sauntered around in front and looked the animal full in the face, his cautious hand still feeling, caressing, sliding from neck to powerful shoulder, from shoulder to slender foreleg.

“Say, Dave,” he drawled at length, “that ain’t a half bad horse. ’F I was you, I’d enter him. Like ’s not you’d pull off some money; mebbe enough t’ buy a new buggy. The’s a free-fer-all comin’ off ’bout four-thirty. I’ll see t’ enterin’ him fer you, if you say so. ’N’ I dunno but what I’d back him t’ the extent of a few dollars. What d’ you say t’ lettin’ me drive him, ’n’ go shares on possible winnin’s?”

David laughed arrogantly.

“I’d say ’no’ to that last,” he said. “I’ll drive him myself, if I enter him at all. Where’s the office?”

Mr. Hawley thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets, where he thoughtfully jingled some loose silver.

“Better let me handle the ribbons,” he advised. “I c’n git the paces out o’ him without ha’f killin’ him, ’n’ that’s more’n some folks c’n do. I ain’t anxious, though, ’s fur’s that’s concerned. But you’d have the fun o’ lookin’ on from the grand stand.”

“There’s something in that,” admitted David.

“If y’ never drove in a race,” pursued Mr. Hawley, “y’ don’t want t’ begin t’-day. There’ll sure be a ruck o’ horses in that free-fer-all.”

David glanced over the rail at the spectacle of half a dozen horses hitched to light sulkies and driven at a furious rate of speed, which at that moment dashed past.

“Them’s the two-year-olds,” vouchsafed Mr. Hawley. “I ain’t speshully int’rested in seein’ ’em go it. Don’t b’lieve in racin’ colts m’self. It’s too much like givin’ a man’s work t’ a boy. Breaks ’em down, like es not, b’fore they’ve had a fair chance.”

He glanced kindly at Jimmy.

“Well, son,” he went on, “how d’ you like the fair?”

“I like it,” Jimmy said shyly. “I like the music an’ the horses an’ the flags ’n’—’n’ everythin’.”

“Want to get out, old man, and take in the side-shows?” asked David.

“What are side-shows?” Jimmy demanded guilelessly.

Mr. Hawley laughed heartily.

“A little bit of everythin’,” he answered. “The’s the agercult’ral exhibit—I seen some o’ your apples an’ a pile o’ them onions Peg Morrison’s be’n raisin’ in there. An’ there’s the woman’s tent, with the bigges’ lot o’ patchwork an’ jell’-cake an’ canned fruit y’ ever saw. I jus’ come f’om there. Y’ c’n hitch over yonder, if y’ wan’ to, Dave.”

David’s eyes had been roaming somewhat impatiently over the gay scene. He thrust his hand into his pocket.

“See here, boy,” he said to Jimmy, “you take this small change and go around to suit yourself. I don’t care anything about all that sort of thing. But you can take it in as long as you’ve a mind to.”

“What! All b’ my lone?” asked Jimmy, a frightened look in his brown eyes. “I guess I’d rather stay wiv you, David.”

“Nonsense!” said David sternly. “You’re not a baby, are you? Can’t you walk around and look at pigs and chickens and patchwork quilts without a guardian? You’ve got to quit being such a molly-coddle, my boy, and we’ll begin right now. Come! jump out, and I’ll look you up after a while. You couldn’t get lost, if you tried. Run along now and have a good time.”

“Her brother, ain’t it?” inquired Mr. Hawley, as David lifted the child to the ground.

“Get in, won’t you?” David said, ignoring the question. “We’ll look into that race proposition. I don’t know but what I’ll go in for it. I wouldn’t mind making a little money on the side.”

Mr. Hawley accepted the invitation with a backward glance at Jimmy, who stood watching them forlornly, his rosy mouth half open, the silver pieces tightly clutched in one moist little hand.

“Kind o’ small, ain’t he, to be goin’ ’round by himself in a place like this?” he ventured. “I’ll bet his sister wouldn’t like it over an’ ’bove.”

“He’s been pretty well spoiled,” David said sharply. “I intend to make a man of him, and this is as good a way to begin as any. There’s nothing to hurt him around here.”

“You may ’xperience some trouble in locatin’ him after a spell,” opined Mr. Hawley, shaking his head. “I remember m’ wife let me bring one o’ our boys t’ the fair once, a number o’ years ago, when Lansing, our oldest boy, was ’bout five. I was lookin’ at the live-stock, an’ Lance, he got kind o’ tuckered out, an’ I sez to him——”

“Oh, cut out the details,” David interrupted. “You didn’t lose the kid for good, did you?”

“No; I got him after a while; but it pretty near scared the life out o’ me an’ him both, I remember; ’n’ m’ wife——”

“Come,” said David, with some impatience, “and we’ll enter the horse.”

He turned and stared sharply at the other man.

“You ought to know what you’re talking about, Hawley, when you say my horse stands a good show to win. Suppose I change my mind and allow you to drive him, and you let him be beaten. What then?”

The liveryman shrugged his shoulders.

“You ain’t no sport, Dave; it’s easy t’ see that,” he drawled. “If I drive your horse, I’ll do my best, o’ course. I dunno what sort o’ horses ’ll be entered in that free-fer-all. But judgin’ from past seasons and what I seen outside in the way o’ horseflesh, I sh’d say——”

He paused and winked solemnly at David.

“Try me an’ see,” he advised. “‘F I lose, I won’t sen’ you no bill fer las’ month’s liv’ry. An’ it ’u’d naturally be a stiff one.”

“All right,” said David. “Done! and we’ll have a drink on it.”

“Lemonade fer mine, ’f I’m a-goin’ t’ drive,” said Mr. Hawley.

But David drank something stronger. He felt the need of it, he said.

Later, having settled the preliminaries of the race, David sauntered forth with a hazy notion of looking up Jimmy and taking him up to the grand stand. To this end he walked slowly through the agricultural “pavilion,” with its exhibits of mammoth vegetables and pyramids of red, green, and russet fruit; but nowhere did he catch a glimpse of Jimmy’s yellow head topped with its scarlet tam. There was a crowd of women in the next place of exhibition, where the pine and canvas walls were covered with quilts of wonderful and complicated design, varied with areas of painted tapestries, home-made lace, worsted and crochet work; while the narrow shelves below were occupied with brown loaves, raised biscuit, and frosted cakes, interspersed with jellies of brilliant hues and luscious fruits preserved in lucent syrups. There were many children here, clinging to maternal hands and skirts; but no Jimmy.

“Little nuisance,” muttered David irritably. “He ought to have stayed where I told him to.”

He was elbowing his way through a group of women engaged in an excited discussion concerning the merits of two rival lace counterpanes, when a small figure placed itself directly in his path.

He stopped short and looked down into the babyish blue eyes uplifted timidly to his.

“Why, hello, Jennie!” he said, smiling. “Where did you come from?”

The girl was very becomingly dressed in dark-blue serge, the jacket thrown jauntily wide, revealing a waist of cheap white lace, which in its turn permitted glimpses of the pink skin and rounded contours beneath. A hat of dark-blue straw, wreathed with small pink roses, rested coquettishly on her light-brown curly hair. At the moment of meeting David thus unexpectedly, the light of youth and love shone vividly over the girl’s insignificant face and figure, irradiating them into a beauty almost noble.

David could hardly help noticing the half infantile, wholly adorable curve of her young brows and the clear blue light of the eyes beneath. Then his curious eyes slowly swept the soft oval of pink cheek and the rosy mouth, parted a little to ease the tumultuous heart-beats which shook the transparent stuff at her throat.

“I didn’t know as you’d want to speak to me, Mr. Whitcomb,” murmured the girl.

Her eyes wandered uncertainly past him into the crowd.

“I s’pose,” she added, thrusting out her pink lips in a pout, “that she’s here somewheres.”

“No,” laughed David. “‘She’ doesn’t happen to be along to-day.”

A wayward impulse prompted his next words.

“What do you think, Jennie? I asked her and she wouldn’t come with me.”

“Wouldn’t come—with you?”

The girl’s voice held wonder, incredulity, longing. Her eyes said more.

“You wouldn’t treat me that way, would you, Jennie?”

The girl looked down, an unsuspected delicacy sealing her lips.

David looked at the pretty shadowy circle of the long lashes on the smooth pink cheek.

“You wouldn’t; now, would you, Jennie?” he persisted.

The girl glanced at him sidewise, and tossed her head.

“What do you want t’ know for?” she demanded. “If you don’t like the way she treats you, you c’n tell her so, can’t you?”

David bit his lip.

“Don’t you want some ice cream, Jennie?” he asked.

The girl hesitated.

“I came t’ the fair with Gus Bamber,” she said. “An’ what do you think, we hadn’t no more’n got here when Sutton got after Gus t’ help him in the refreshment booth. Said the other fellow he’d hired wasn’t no good at mixin’ drinks; an’ so nothin’ would do but he must have Gus t’ help. Both of us was awful mad; but we didn’t das’ say so to old Sutton. He’s somethin’ fierce if you don’t do ’xactly as he says.”

“Who’s Gus?” asked David.

“Well, that’s pretty good!” giggled the girl. “I guess you’d ought t’ know Gus Bamber b’ this time. He waits on you often enough at the Eagle.”

“Oh, you mean Sutton’s barkeep—Gus; yes, that’s so. I didn’t know his name was Bamber, though.”

“It is,” the girl said. “Augustus Bamber. I think it’s a real nice name, too. But I don’t like it ’s well’s I do yours.”

“That’s kind of you,” drawled David. “Mrs. Augustus Bamber sounds pretty well, though—eh, Jennie?”

The girl moved her shoulders gently.

“Not on your life!” she said positively. “‘N’ I’ve told him so more’n fifty times already, I guess.”

She lifted her eyes to David’s with innocent coquetry.

“I don’t b’lieve in gettin’ married t’ anybody ’nless you’re awfully in love with ’em. That’s what I keep tellin’ Gus, but he says——”

“Are you coming with me to get that ice cream?” asked David, stifling a yawn.

“I dunno whether I’ve got the nerve,” murmured the girl. “The ice cream’s in the same booth where Gus is; it’s right acrost from where Sutton’s got his concession. ’F he should see me—with you——”

“What do you suppose he’d do about it?” inquired David. “Gus—er—went off and left you, didn’t he?”

He paused to laugh sourly; then added, “And my girl wouldn’t come with me; so I guess it’s up to us to do the best we can to have a good time, Jennie. If you’ll come along with me, we’ll take in the whole darned show.”

“If you think it would be all right, Mr. Whitcomb.”

“Why shouldn’t it be all right, I’d like to know?”

“I don’t know, only——”

“Only what? Out with it, little girl.”

“I—I’m kind of scared of you, Mr. Whitcomb,” faltered the girl. “You—you’re so—tall—’n’—’n’ handsome, ’n’ you——”

David laughed outright. The girl’s eyes and voice conveyed so delicious a flattery that he could not help the tenderness that crept into his words.

“Why, you dear little goose, you,” he said in her ear, “I won’t hurt you, and nobody else shall, either, when I’m around. Come, we’ll go and eat that ice cream, right where Augustus Bamber, Esquire, can see us; then we’ll take in the other attractions. Have you seen anything yet?”

“Only the cake an’ jell’ an’ canned peaches an’ stuff, an’ those stupid ol’ quilts an’ things,” said the girl, with spirit. “Those women are all ’s mad as wet hens because the quilt with red stars got the blue ribbon over the one with yellow moons on it, an’ they pretty near come to a scrap over those two big fruitcakes. One of ’em’s got white roses made out o’ tissue paper round the edge, an’ the other’s got a bride on top made out o’ sugar, with a real veil an’ bouquet. It’s awful cute.”

“A bride made out of sugar must be pretty sweet,” said David, smacking his lips and smiling down into the pretty, foolish face at his side. “But I know somebody that’ll be a heap sweeter—when she’s a bride.”

“Oh, Mis-ter Whitcomb!” breathed the girl, the pink brightening in her round cheeks. “But, of course, you meant—her. She’s awful good-lookin’.”

“No; I didn’t mean—her,” said David, laughing outright. “I meant you, Jennie.”

The girl looked down and bit her lips in pretty confusion. Then she sighed.

“I shan’t never be a bride, I guess,” she said mournfully.

“Why not? I’d like to know.”

“Because—I—— If we’re goin’ out o’ here, I guess we’d better be movin’. Folks is lookin’ at us.”

“I have no objections,” David said coolly. “Let ’em look.”

“It was that insurance man that’s stayin’ t’ the Eagle,” whispered the girl. “I don’t like him a bit. He was right behind us; but he’s over there now, lookin’ at those sofa-pillows.”

“You mean Todd? Oh, Todd’s all right. He’s a good fellow.”

“I don’t like him snoopin’ ’round, just the same. He’s got eyes like a gimblet; ’n’ he looks at you like he was tryin’ t’ find out what you had fer breakfas’. Gus says he’s a tight-wad, too. He don’t spen’ nothin’ at the bar, ’xcept you or somebody treats him.”

“He’s welcome to all he gets out of me,” drawled David. “Do you like your ice cream mixed or straight, Jennie?”

“I guess maybe you’ll think I’m kind o’ funny, but I like those little round pancakes, folded around like a cornucopia with v’nilla ice cream inside. They’re awful good.”

“All right; we’ll partake of cornucopias, to begin with. Perhaps we’ll work around to the other kinds after the races.”

“Oh, are there goin’ to be races?” asked Jennie, nibbling prettily at the edges of the cone sparsely filled with vanilla ice cream, which the scarlet-faced man who presided over the gasoline stove and its adjacent can of cold stuff, handed her with a wipe of his sticky fingers on a long-suffering apron-front.

“Get onto Gus, will you?” she whispered, as she bridled, laughed, blushed, and giggled by turns, under the baleful light of Mr. Bamber’s pale-green eyes. “I ’xpect he’ll kill me jus’ the minute he gets a chance. Gus hates you; did you know it, Mr. Whitcomb?”

“Hates me? Why should he? I’m sure I’ve given the fellow tips enough,” David said arrogantly.

All the light went out of the girl’s blue eyes.

“You’ve given me ‘tips,’ as you call them, too,” she said soberly. “Do you want to know what I’ve done with ’em? I jus’ hated to take money from you; but I didn’t know what else t’ do; so I——”

“Well, what did you do with the munificent sums I’ve bestowed on you from time to time?” inquired David good-humoredly. “I’d really like to know.”

The girl had finished her ice cream, leathery receptacle and all. She began pulling on her white cotton gloves.

“Let’s go outside, where Gus can’t see us, an’ I’ll show you,” she whispered.

“We’ll go up to the grand stand,” David proposed. “One of my horses is going to race,” he added magnificently, “and you shall bet on him. Would you like to? I’ll pay, of course, if you lose.”

“Isn’t betting kind o’ wicked?” asked the girl innocently. “The Meth’dist minister said it was. Me an’ Gus went t’ church an’ heard a sermon las’ Sunday night.”

“Nothing would be wicked for you,” decided David, “except to throw yourself away on that greasy little cad, Bamber. Promise me you won’t, Jennie. You’re about ten times too pretty and good for such a chap.”

“I told you I wasn’t goin’ t’ marry him b’fore,” murmured the girl. “I—I couldn’t.”

She pulled off her white cotton glove and spread her short-fingered, blunt little hand for his inspection.

“There!” she whispered. “I didn’t never ’xpect you’d see it. But that’s what I’ve bought with all the money you’ve give me for makin’ your toast the way you like it an’ your coffee an’ all. I’m goin’ t’ keep it always, t’ remember you by.”

David glanced carelessly at the pink little hand, with its close-clipped, shallow nails and stubbed fingertips.

“Do you mean—that?” he asked, touching the trumpery little ring with its circle of blue stones, which glittered speciously on the third finger.

“Yes,” breathed the girl. “You—you ain’t—mad, are you? I—wanted somethin’ t’ keep always, t’ put me in mind o’ you, when—I can’t do things f’r you no more; I love t’ do things f’r you, an’ I don’t s’pose I’ll always have the chance, after—after she——”

David felt a sudden moisture in his eyes. There was something touching, lovely, pathetic about this innocent, unasking love. He felt a little proud of his own understanding of it. Almost unavoidably, too, there came to his remembrance Barbara’s proud refusal to wear the costly ring he had urged upon her acceptance.

“I am not angry, dear little girl,” he said gently, “But I wish the keepsake was better, more worth while.”

“One of the stones did come out,” confessed the girl; “but I had it put back in, ’n’ I’m only goin’ t’ wear it f’r best.”

David’s hand was fumbling in his pocket.

“I bought a ring for—a certain young lady,” he said bitterly, “and she didn’t like it—or me—well enough to wear it. I wonder what you’d think of a ring like that?”

He thrust the white velvet case into her hands with a carelessly magnificent gesture of disdain.

“Do you mean for me to—to look at it?” asked the girl uncertainly.

“Yes, of course; look at it and tell me what you think about it.”

The girl’s face was a study as the sunshine leaped in a burst of dazzling colors from the imbedded gem.

“Oh!” she cried passionately. “Oh—my!”

“Do you like it?” asked David morosely. “Do you think it’s pretty enough for a girl to wear?”

“Pretty enough? Oh—I——”

She snapped the case shut.

“Take it, please. I—I’m sorry you showed it to me.”

“Why?”

“Because—I shan’t like this—this cheap thing any more. It—isn’t fit to remember you by. It—isn’t like you, the same’s this one is.”

His face flushed. He bent toward her eagerly.

“Give me the little blue ring, Jennie; I’d like to keep it—just to remind me that there is a woman in the world who loved to do things for me—— That’s what you said, and I shan’t forget it in a hurry.”

She pulled the ring from her hand with a listless gesture.

“You c’n have it, if you want it,” she said.

She swallowed hard, her childish lips trembling piteously.

“I shan’t care ’bout it no more.”

“Try the other one on and see if it fits,” said David. “I’ve been carrying it about in my pocket for a couple of months. She wouldn’t have it, and I swore I wouldn’t offer it to her again. Take it, and wear it—or sell it; I don’t care what you do with it.”

The girl trembled, her round blue eyes on his face.

“Honest and truly, do you mean it?” she whispered. “I’m almost afraid; it—it’s so—lovely!”

“Put it on,” ordered David, frowning.

He was thinking confusedly of Barbara, of her coldness, her capriciousness, her bad temper, as he chose to term her rather pitiful attempts to curb his own lawlessness. It suddenly appeared to David that he had been abused, made light of, almost insulted, of late. What other construction could be put upon Barbara’s behavior that very afternoon? He still loved her, of course; but her treatment of him certainly merited this tardy reprisal.

“You ain’t had a scrap with her, have you?” Jennie asked timidly, “an’—broke off th’ engagement?”

“Well, not exactly,” he muttered, with a frown.

“Anyway, don’t—show her that ring o’ mine, please. I’m ’fraid—she’d laugh.”

“She won’t see it, ever. Don’t worry about that. And she won’t set eyes on that diamond again in a hurry. Take good care of it, little girl. It’s good for a house and lot—that ring.”

“Is it a real di’mon’?”

“Of course, goosie; you didn’t suppose I’d buy an imitation, did you? I guess not. It’s yours to do what you like with. But——”

He stared dubiously into her pretty, flushed face. “Keep it to yourself that I gave it to you, will you?”

“I—won’t tell,” she faltered. “I’ll do jus’ as you say, Mr. Whitcomb.”

“All right. Now you sit down here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ve got to look around a bit, and put some money on my horse. I’ll buy some candy, too, while I’m gone.”

The girl sat, where he had left her, in a daze of happiness. All about her the seats of the grand stand were filling with people for the afternoon races; but she did not see them, nor the arid stretch of the race-course, around which were circling various experimental trotters under the guidance of hunched men in two-wheeled vehicles. The subdued light of the shaded place brought out new and more vivid flashes of color in the marvellous white stone on her little pink hand—scarlet and green and blue. Jennie twisted it slowly on her finger, her eyes riveted upon its alien splendors.

“To think she didn’t like it!” she whispered to herself.

“Good-afternoon, Miss Jennie,” murmured a carefully modulated voice at her side. She turned with a start to gaze into Mr. Todd’s smiling face.

“Goodness!” exclaimed the girl petulantly. “How you made me jump!”

“You were thinking about that new ring of yours, I suppose,” said Mr. Todd, blinking pleasantly.

“Who told you I had a new ring, I’d like to know?” the girl demanded coldly.

“I don’t have to be told,” Mr. Todd said facetiously. “Say, but it’s handsome! I shouldn’t wonder if it cost as much as two hundred and fifty.”

“Not dollars?” exclaimed the girl, in an awestruck voice.

“Sure! He must have thought a lot of you to give you that—eh, Miss Jennie?”

The girl did not answer. She was putting on her gloves with an air of offended dignity.

“I guess it ain’t any of your affairs,” she said, her lips trembling, “if I’ve got a friend or two.”

“Don’t sit on me too hard,” begged Mr. Todd. “I didn’t mean anything out of the way. I couldn’t help noticing the sparkler on your hand. Most anybody would. Get it to-day?”

“Yes, I did,” admitted the girl. “But you don’t need t’ ask me who give it t’ me, for I shan’t tell; so there!”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” asserted Mr. Todd truthfully. “I—er—congratulate you, though. You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

The girl hunched the shoulder nearest him and eyed him sulkily over its slender defence.

“I ain’t engaged; if that’s what you mean.”

“Not engaged—with that ring? Come, you’re fooling!”

“It does look some like an engagement ring,” said the girl, stealthily feeling her new treasure, “but it—it’s only an offerin’ o’ friendship. He—he’s got another girl. But I guess he don’t care s’ awful much ’bout her. She’s good-lookin’; but she don’t treat him right, an’ that makes him mad. I don’t blame him, neither.”

“Do I know the party?” inquired Mr. Todd, affecting a consuming curiosity.

“I ain’t a-goin’ t’ say, whether you do, er don’t,” and the girl tossed her head. “I wisht you’d let me alone.”

“W’y, I ain’t sayin’ anything out the way. What’s your hurry to get rid of me, I’d like to know?”

The girl moistened her red lips, with an anxious glance at the stair.

“The’s a party bought that seat you’re in. I got t’ save it fer him.”

“That’s all right, too,” said Mr. Todd affably. “I’ll get up an’ vamoose the minute you tell me he’s coming.”

“He’s cornin’ now,” said the girl anxiously. “He won’t like it, if he sees me talkin’ with you.”

Mr. Todd arose.

“He must be a great chap,” he said carelessly. “Well, so long. Hope you’ll treat him better’n you have me.”

Mr. Todd did not turn around to glimpse David seating himself in the vacant place at the girl’s side. He was whistling softly to himself as he wandered idly about the enclosure below where the last bets were being registered. The interest in the free-for-all race appeared to be rather languid; but he looked over the entries carefully; then fell into a desultory conversation regarding the event with the gate-keeper.

“‘Tain’t a-goin’ to be much of a race; never is,” opined that individual sagely. “The’s a lot o’ Rubes that like to speed their horses ’round the course; but it’s gen’ally a walkover fer one hoss. Bud Hawley’s drivin’ the winner t’-day.”

“No, he ain’t,” interrupted a raucous voice from the rear. “Bud Hawley’s a-goin’ t’ git left this time.”

“That so?” queried Mr. Todd. “Who’s goin’ to win?”

“I be,” said the owner of the voice. “Say, I’ve seen you somewheres b’fore, ain’t I?”

“W’y, yes,” agreed Mr. Todd cordially. “But your name’s gone from me just now. Let me see——”

“I know now who you be,” put in the farmer. “You’re the fellow ’at come int’ Hewett’s grocery a spell back one day when I was there. My name’s Plumb—Hiram Plumb.”

“And your horse is going to win—eh, Mr. Plumb?”

“Yas, sir. He’ll win, hands down. You’ll see!”

“Pretty tough on Whitcomb, if he does,” laughed the gateman. “He’s put quite a wad on his own horse.”

“He’s goin’ t’ part with his wad all right,” said the farmer, wagging his head. “I ain’t a bettin’ man m’self; but I’m willin’ t’ put down fi’ dollars on it.”

“I take you,” said Mr. Todd, with an agreeable smile.

This small matter being adjusted, the genial insurance man walked quietly away through the crowd, humming a little tune to himself. Among the vehicles drawn up inside the enclosure roped off for teams, he caught sight of Jarvis, sitting alone, in his usual red-wheeled sidebar. Mr. Todd made his way among the crowd and presently paused at Jarvis’s side.

“Our young friend is here to-day,” he observed, in a low voice.

“Yes, I saw him come in with the boy,” Jarvis replied.

“Since then he appears to have got rid of the boy and acquired a girl.”

“Where is the boy?” demanded Jarvis sharply.

Mr. Todd shook his head.

“I wasn’t looking after the boy,” he reminded his patron.

“What’s Whitcomb up to?” asked Jarvis after a silence.

His face was gray and set and his weary eyes wandered impatiently over the dusty race-track.

“Horse-racing, for one thing,” replied the detective. “He’s backing his own horse heavily; but there’s more doing than that. Do you want to hear it now?”

“No,” said Jarvis, “not here.”

Mr. Todd gathered his lips into a noiseless whistle.

“Our young friend,” he said slowly, “has appropriated about all the rope he needs. All you’ve got to do now is to let him alone.”