knew that in his day their
wearer had been a mighty figure in the public eye.

"Hi, Crowfoot!" shouted Starkey above the din and babel. "Crowfoot,
Crowfoot! Come over here, there's a chap dying to see you!"

"Yes, that's the way to get him, isn't it?" said Spargo. "Here, I'll
get him myself."

He went across the room and accosted the old sporting journalist.

"I want a quiet word with you," he said. "This place is like a
pandemonium."

Crowfoot led the way into a side alcove and ordered a drink.

"Always is, this time," he said, yawning. "But it's companionable. What
is it, Spargo?"

Spargo took a pull at the glass which he had carried with him. "I
should say," he said, "that you know as much about sporting matters as
any man writing about 'em?"

"Well, I think you might say it with truth," answered Crowfoot.

"And old sporting matters?" said Spargo.

"Yes, and old sporting matters," replied the other with a sudden flash
of the eye. "Not that they greatly interest the modern generation, you
know."

"Well, there's something that's interesting me greatly just now,
anyway," said Spargo. "And I believe it's got to do with old sporting
affairs. And I came to you for information about it, believing you to
be the only man I know of that could tell anything."

"Yes--what is it?" asked Crowfoot.

Spargo drew out an envelope, and took from it the carefully-wrapped-up
silver ticket. He took off the wrappings and laid the ticket on
Crowfoot's outstretched palm.

"Can you tell me what that is?" he asked.

Another sudden flash came into the old sportsman's eyes--he eagerly
turned the silver ticket over.

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get this?"

"Never mind, just now," replied Spargo. "You know what it is?"

"Certainly I know what it is! But--Gad! I've not seen one of these
things for Lord knows how many years. It makes me feel something like a
young 'un again!" said Crowfoot. "Quite a young 'un!"

"But what is it?" asked Spargo.

Crowfoot turned the ticket over, showing the side on which the heraldic
device was almost worn away.

"It's one of the original silver stand tickets of the old racecourse at
Market Milcaster," answered Crowfoot. "That's what it is. One of the
old original silver stand tickets. There are the arms of Market
Milcaster, you see, nearly worn away by much rubbing. There, on the
obverse, is the figure of a running horse. Oh, yes, that's what it is!
Bless me!--most i