her; and those who did not, respected the
grave-faced young giant who was her constant attendant.

When the pair passed swiftly through the bar, an observer would have
noticed that a hush fell on the drinkers, accompanied by surreptitious
elbow-nudgings and significant winks.

It was clear that the young couple were of secret interest to the dingy
crowd. And in fact there were rumours afloat about them--sensational
stories not a few about what they stood to win in love upon the race.

Monkey Brand and Joses were always drinking together in the bar as
Silver walked through. Once he passed quite close to them. The little
jockey's glassy eye rested meaninglessly on the young man's face and
wandered away. When the other had moved on, he dropped his eyelid and
muttered to his pal:

"Wants the ---- kybosh puttin' on him. Good as called me a copper's
nark."

"Hundred thousand in the pot," grinned the fat man. "And a dainty bit o'
white meat. I don't blame him." He licked his lips.

* * * * *

There were few more familiar figures at the bar of The Sefton Arms at
National time than that of Monkey Brand, and this year few more pathetic
ones.

It was soon bruited abroad that Old Mat and his head-lad had parted
after more years of association than many cared to recall. And it was
clear that the little man felt the rupture. He wandered morosely through
the crowd in the train of his fat familiar like a lost soul outside the
gates of Paradise. Usually a merry sprite, the life and soul of every
group he joined, he was under the weather, as the saying went, and what
was still more remarkable he showed it.

Everybody was aware of the facts, though nobody knew the story.

The Duke, who was genuinely fond of the little jockey, and full of
vulgar curiosity, coming upon him two nights before the race, stopped
him.

"I'm sorry to hear you and Mr. Woodburn have parted after all these
years, Brand," he said in his gruff way.

"Thank you, your Grace," said the little jockey, pinching his lips.

The Duke waited. Nothing happened, but Monkey poked his chin in the air,
and swallowed.

"I thought you were set for life," continued the Duke slowly.

"I thought so, too, your Grace," answered the jockey. "But the human
'eart's a funny affair--very funny, as the sayin' is."

Long ago he had acquired the trick of moralizing from his old master.

"What's the trouble, then?" grunted the Duke.

He was gre