me see, most likely sitting up in the grand stand."

As Mortimer stood scanning the sea of faces that rose wave on wave above
him, Mr. Crane said, "I hope you found your mother better. If I see Alan
I'll tell him you are looking for him."

When Mortimer turned around Crane had gone. He had meant to ask about
the race Porter's horse Lauzanne was in, but had hesitated for fear he
should say something which might give rise to a suspicion of his errand.
He heard the rolling thunder of hoof beats in the air. From where he
stood, over the heads of many people he could see gaudy colored silk
jackets coming swiftly up the broad straight boulevard of the race
course; even as he looked they passed by with a peculiar bobbing
up-and-down motion. The effect was grotesque, for he could not see the
horses, could not see the motive power which carried the bright-colored
riders at such a terrific pace.

A thought flashed through his mind that it might be the Derby.

"What race is that?" he asked of one who stood at his elbow.

The man's face wore a sullen, discontented look, and no wonder, for he
had, with misplaced confidence, wagered many dollars on a horse that was
even then prancing gaily in many yards behind the winner.

"Do you know what race that was?" Mortimer repeated, thinking the silent
one had not heard him.

"Why don't you look at your race card?" retorted the jaundiced
loser, transporting himself and his troubles to the haven of liquid
consolation.

His answer, curt as it was, gave Mortimer an inspiration. He looked
about and saw many men consulting small paper pamphlets; they were like
people in an art gallery, catalogue in hand.

By chance, Mortimer observed a young man selling these race catalogues,
as he innocently named them. He procured one, and the seller in answer
to a question told him it was the third race he had just seen, and the
next would be the Brooklyn Derby.

There it was, all set forth in the programme he had just purchased.
Seven horses to start, all with names unfamiliar except The Dutchman
and Lauzanne. He had almost given up looking for Alan; it seemed so
hopeless. At any rate he had tried his best to save the boy's honor;
told deliberate lies to do it. Now it was pretty much in the hands of
fate. He remembered what Alan had said about The Dutchman's certain
chance of winning the coming race. He felt that if the horse won, Alan
would put back the stolen thousand dollars; if not, where woul