to secure the right to publish Carter's next book.

"I have a few short stories----" suggested Carter.

Collections of short stories, protested the visitor truthfully, "do
not sell. We would prefer another novel on the same lines as 'The Dead
Heat.'"

"Have you read 'The Dead Heat'?" asked Carter.

"I have not," admitted the publisher, "but the next book by the same
author is sure to----. We will pay in advance of royalties fifteen
thousand dollars."

"Could you put that in writing?" asked Carter. When the publisher was
leaving he said:

"I see your success in literature is equaled by your success at the
races. Could you tell me what will win the Suburban?"

"I will send you a wire in the MORNING," said Carter.

They had arranged to dine with some friends and later to visit a musical
comedy. Carter had changed his clothes, and, while he was waiting for
Dolly to dress, was reclining in a huge arm-chair. The heat of the day,
the excitement, and the wear on his nerves caused his head to sink back,
his eyes to close, and his limbs to relax.

When, by her entrance, Dolly woke him, he jumped up in some confusion.

"You've been asleep," she mocked.

"Worse!" said Carter. "I've been dreaming! Shall I tell you who is going
to win the Suburban?"

"Champneys!" cried Dolly in alarm.

"My dear Dolly," protested her husband, "I promised to stop betting. I
did not promise to stop sleeping."

"Well," sighed Dolly, with relief, "as long as it stops at that. Delhi
will win," she added. "Delhi will not," said Carter. "This is how they
will finish----" He scribbled three names on a piece of paper which Dolly
read.

"But that," she said, "is what you told the gentleman at the bank."

Carter stared at her blankly and in some embarrassment.

"You see!" cried Dolly, "what you think when you're awake, you dream
when you're asleep. And you had a run of luck that never happened before
and could never happen again."

Carter received her explanation with reluctance. "I wonder," he said.

On arriving at the theatre they found their host had reserved a
stage-box, and as there were but four in their party, and as, when they
entered, the house lights were up, their arrival drew upon them the
attention both of those in the audience and of those on the stage. The
theatre was crowded to its capacity, and in every part were people who
were habitual race-goers, as well as many racing men who had come to
town for the Suburban. By the