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“Could you put that in writing?” asked Carter. When the publisher was leaving he said:

“I see your success in literature is equaled by your success at the races. Could you tell me what will win the Suburban?”

“I will send you a wire in the MORNING,” said Carter.

They had arranged to dine with some friends and later to visit a musical comedy. Carter had changed his clothes, and, while he was waiting for Dolly to dress, was reclining in a huge arm-chair. The heat of the day, the excitement, and the wear on his nerves caused his head to sink back, his eyes to close, and his limbs to relax.

When, by her entrance, Dolly woke him, he jumped up in some confusion.

“You’ve been asleep,” she mocked.

“Worse!” said Carter. “I’ve been dreaming! Shall I tell you who is going to win the Suburban?”

“Champneys!” cried Dolly in alarm.

“My dear Dolly,” protested her husband, “I promised to stop betting. I did not promise to stop sleeping.”

“Well,” sighed Dolly, with relief, “as long as it stops at that. Delhi will win,” she added. “Delhi will not,” said Carter. “This is how they will finish—-“He scribbled three names on a piece of paper which Dolly read.

“But that,” she said, “is what you told the gentleman at the bank.”

Carter stared at her blankly and in some embarrassment.

“You see!” cried Dolly, “what you think when you’re awake, you dream when you’re asleep. And you had a run of luck that never happened before and could never happen again.”

Carter received her explanation with reluctance. “I wonder,” he said.

On arriving at the theatre they found their host had reserved a stage-box, and as there were but four in their party, and as, when they entered, the house lights were up, their arrival drew upon them the attention both of those in the audience and of those on the stage. The theatre was crowded to its capacity, and in every part were people who were habitual race-goers, as well as many racing men who had come to town for the Suburban. By these, as well as by many others who for three days had seen innumerable pictures of him, Carter was instantly recognized. To the audience and to the performers the man who always won was of far greater interest than what for the three-hundredth night was going forward on the stage. And when the leading woman, Blanche Winter, asked the comedian which he would rather be, “The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo or the Man Who Can Not Lose?” she gained from the audience an easy laugh and from the chorus an excited giggle.

When, at the end of the act, Carter went into the lobby to smoke, he was so quickly surrounded that he sought refuge on Broadway. From there, the crowd still following him, he was driven back into his box. Meanwhile, the interest shown in him had not been lost upon the press agent of the theatre, and he at once telephoned to the newspaper offices that Plunger Carter, the book-maker breaker, was at that theatre, and if that the newspapers wanted a chance to interview him on the probable out-come of the classic handicap to be run on the morrow, he, the press agent, would unselfishly assist them. In answer to these hurry calls, reporters of the Ten o’Clock Club assembled in the foyer. How far what later followed was due to their presence and to the efforts of the press agent only that gentleman can tell. It was in the second act that Miss Blanche Winter sang her topical song. In it she advised the audience when anxious to settle any question of personal or national interest to “Put it up to the Man in the Moon.'” This night she introduced a verse in which she told of her desire to know which horse on the morrow would win the Suburban, and, in the chorus, expressed her determination to “Put it up to the Man in the Moon.”