le.

"Whoo! I feel like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego rolled into one," said
Glory.

"Let us go into the Paddock," said Drake, and they began to cross the
race track.

"But wasn't that somebody preaching as we galloped down the hill?"

"Was it? I didn't notice," and they struggled through.

It was fresh and cool under the trees, and Glory thought it cheap even at
ten shillings a head to walk for ten minutes on green grass. Horses
waiting for their race were being walked about in clothes with their
names worked on the quarter sheets, and breeders, trainers, jockeys, and
clerks of the course mingled with gentlemen in silk hats and ladies in
smart costumes.

Drake's horse was a big bay colt, very thin, almost gaunt, and with long,
high-stepping legs. The trainer was waiting for a last word with his
owner. He was cool and confident. "Never better or fitter, Sir Francis,
and one of the grandest three-year-olds that ever looked through a
bridle. Improved wonderful since he got over his dental troubles, and
does justice to the contents of his manger. Capital field, sir, but it's
got to run up against summat smart to-day. Favourite, sir? Pooh! A coach
horse! Not stripping well--light in the flank and tucked up. But this
colt fills the eye as a first-class one should. Whatever beats him will
win, sir, take my word for that."

And the jockey, standing by in his black-and-white-jacket, wagged his
head and said in a cheery whisper: "Have what ye like on 'im, Sir
Francis. Great horse, sir! Got a Derby in 'im or I'm a Slowcome."

Drake laughed at their predictions, and Glory patted the creature while
it beat its white feet on the ground and the leather of its saddle
squeaked. The club stand from there? looked like a sea of foaming laces,
feathers, flowers, and sunshades. They turned to go to it, passing first
by the judge's box, whereof Drake explained the use, then through the
Jockey Club inclosure, which was full of peers, peeresses, judges,
members of Parliament, and other turfites, and finally through the
betting ring where some hundreds of betting men of the superior class
proclaimed their calling in loud voices and loud clothes and the gold
letters on their betting books. To one of these pencillers Drake said:

"What's the figure for Ellan Vannin?"

"Ten to one, market price, sir."

"I'll take you in hundreds," said Drake, and they struggled through the
throng.

Going up the stairs Glory said: "But wasn't the A