r to two, and we shall miss the first race."

"Don't wait for him, then," said Marion, thinking this was the only
thing to be said, but feeling an inward disappointment at the thought
that Duncan might not see her in her white crepon gown, with its gold
corselet and braided trimmings, just sent her by Mrs. Mason of
Burlington Street, London, W. She knew it was becoming, and she also
liked her Virot hat, but she didn't think it wise to put Sedger in an
ill-humor by asking him to wait, so she walked silently to where a groom
was holding a ladder against the box-seat. Meanwhile Sedger passed round
to his off side wheeler and picked up his reins. Assorting them in
correct road fashion he mounted to his seat, wrapped a light driving
apron about his legs, picked up his whip, caught the lash in a double
thong, and waited while his party took their places. Marion mounted to
the box seat and the rest took the longer seat behind. Just as Sedger
was about to start his team, Marion, who had been constantly looking in
the direction in which Duncan should appear, saw him hastening around
the corner of Jackson Street. "There is Mr. Grahame," she called out,
and while Duncan was hurrying along the street, Roswell Sanderson
suggested that he and Wainwright had better change to the back seat, so
as to give Duncan an opportunity of seeing something of the city.

Duncan came up almost breathless from his rapid walking, and after
exchanging a hurried greeting with the party, mounted to the seat
beside Florence left vacant by Harold Wainwright. "Let 'em go," Sedger
called to the grooms. The lead bars rattled, the leaders pranced as the
grooms jumped from their heads, the wheelers sprang into their collars,
and the coach rolled off down the Avenue.

It was a bright June day, and all Chicago seemed to be in the long,
tree-lined boulevard which stretched away to the south. Hundreds of
vehicles of every description known to the coach-builder's craft were
rolling over the hard macadam pavement, bearing people to the races, and
in this motley array were to be found all sorts and conditions of men
and carriages. Buggies and express wagons, stanhopes and butcher carts,
mail-phaetons and road-carts, char-a-bancs and extension tops, victorias
and "hacks," coaches and omnibuses, aristocracy and democracy scattered
the same dust and rolled toward the same goal. Only the road to Epsom
can present a scene more varied than this; only the Champs Elysees
e