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“He ‘win’ each time,” he whispered. “I saw it as plain as I see you. Each time he came up with a rush just at the same place, just as they entered the stretch, and each time he won!” He slapped his hand disdainfully upon the dirty bills before him. “If I had a hundred dollars!”

There was a knock at the door, and Carter opened it to the elevator boy with the morning mail. The letters, save one, Carter dropped upon the table. That one, with clumsy fingers, he tore open. He exclaimed breathlessly: “It’s from PLYMPTON’S MAGAZINE! Maybe–I’ve sold a story!” He gave a cry almost of alarm. His voice was as solemn as though the letter had announced a death.

“Dolly,” he whispered, “it’s a check–a check for a HUNDRED DOLLARS!”

Guiltily, the two young people looked at each other.

“We’ve GOT to!” breathed Dolly. “GOT to! If we let TWO signs like that pass, we’d be flying in the face of Providence.”

With her hands gripping the arms of her chair, she leaned forward, her eyes staring into space, her lips moving.

“COME ON, you Dromedary!” she whispered.

They changed the check into five and ten dollar bills, and, as Carter was far too excited to work, made an absurdly early start for the race-track.

“We might as well get all the fresh air we can,” said Dolly. “That’s all we will get!”

From their reserve fund of twenty-seven dollars which each had solemnly agreed with the other would not be risked on race-horses, Dolly subtracted a two-dollar bill. This she stuck conspicuously across the face of the clock on the mantel.

“Why?” asked Carter.

“When we get back this evening,” Dolly explained, “that will be the first thing we’ll see. It’s going to look awfully good!”

This day there was no scarlet car to rush them with refreshing swiftness through Brooklyn’s parkways and along the Ocean Avenue. Instead, they hung to a strap in a cross- town car, changed to the ferry, and again to the Long Island Railroad. When Carter halted at the special car of the Turf Club, Dolly took his arm and led him forward to the day coach.

“But,” protested Carter, “when you’re spending a hundred dollars with one hand, why grudge fifty cents for a parlor- car seat? If you’re going to be a sport, be a sport.” “And if you’ve got to be a piker,” said Dolly, don’t be ashamed to be a piker. We’re not spending a hundred dollars because we can afford it, but because you dreamt a dream. You didn’t dream you were riding in parlor-cars! If you did, it’s time I woke you.”

This day there was for them no box overlooking the finish, no club-house luncheon. With the other pikers, they sat in the free seats, with those who sat coatless and tucked their handkerchiefs inside their collars, and with those who mopped their perspiring countenances with rice-paper and marked their cards with a hat-pin. Their lunch consisted of a massive ham sandwich with a top dressing of mustard.

Dromedary did not run until the fifth race, and the long wait, before they could learn their fate, was intolerable. They knew most of the horses, and, to pass the time, on each of the first races Dolly made imaginary bets. Of these mental wagers, she lost every one.

“If you turn out to be as bad a guesser when you’re asleep as I am when I’m awake,” said Dolly, “we’re going to lose our fortune.”

“I’m weakening!” declared Carter. “A hundred dollars is beginning to look to me like an awful lot of money. Twenty- seven dollars, and there’s only twenty of that left now, is mighty small capital, but twenty dollars plus a hundred could keep us alive for a month!”

“Did you, or did you not, dream that Dromedary would win?” demanded Dolly sternly.

“I certainly did, several times,” said Carter. “But it may be I was thinking of the horse. I’ve lost such a lot on him, my mind may have—-“