in possession of one of
our tickets," continued Mr. Quarterpage. "It is--wonderful! But I tell
you what, young gentleman from London, if you will do me the honour to
breakfast with me in the morning, sir, I will show you my racing books
and papers and we will speedily discover who the original holder of
that ticket was. My name, sir, is Quarterpage--Benjamin
Quarterpage--and I reside at the ivy-covered house exactly opposite
this inn, and my breakfast hour is nine o'clock sharp, and I shall bid
you heartily welcome!"

Spargo made his best bow.

"Sir," he said, "I am greatly obliged by your kind invitation, and I
shall consider it an honour to wait upon you to the moment."

Accordingly, at five minutes to nine next morning, Spargo found himself
in an old-fashioned parlour, looking out upon a delightful garden, gay
with summer flowers, and being introduced by Mr. Quarterpage, Senior,
to Mr. Quarterpage, Junior--a pleasant gentleman of sixty, always
referred to by his father as something quite juvenile--and to Miss
Quarterpage, a young-old lady of something a little less elderly than
her brother, and to a breakfast table bounteously spread with all the
choice fare of the season. Mr. Quarterpage, Senior, was as fresh and
rosy as a cherub; it was a revelation to Spargo to encounter so old a
man who was still in possession of such life and spirits, and of such a
vigorous and healthy appetite.

Naturally, the talk over the breakfast table ran on Spargo's possession
of the old silver ticket, upon which subject it was evident Mr.
Quarterpage was still exercising his intellect. And Spargo, who had
judged it well to enlighten his host as to who he was, and had
exhibited a letter with which the editor of the _Watchman_ had
furnished him, told how in the exercise of his journalistic duties he
had discovered the ticket in the lining of an old box. But he made no
mention of the Marbury matter, being anxious to see first whither Mr.
Quarterpage's revelations would lead him.

"You have no idea, Mr. Spargo," said the old gentleman, when, breakfast
over, he and Spargo were closeted together in a little library in which
were abundant evidences of the host's taste in sporting matters; "you
have no idea of the value which was attached to the possession of one
of those silver tickets. There is mine, as you see, securely framed and
just as securely fastened to the wall. Those fifty silver tickets, my
dear sir, were made when our old rac