[Illustration: "Yet here I was finally unsuccessful."]

I don't pretend to be a judge of a horse; except for their colour they
all seem pretty much alike to me. Nor did I haunt race-courses much,
people there are often very unrefined, and the Ring is extremely
noisy and confusing. Once I heard a man offering to lay considerable
odds against the Field, and I offered in a shy and hesitating manner,
to accept them. He asked me what horse I backed? I said none in
particular, the Field at large, all of them, for really the odds
seemed very remarkable. But he did not accede to my wishes, and
continued to shout in rather a discourteous manner. Once, too, when I
had won some money, I lost it all on the way back, at a simple sort of
game of cards, not nearly so complex and difficult as whist. One need
only to say which of three cards, in the dealer's hand, was the card
one had chosen. Yet here I was finally unsuccessful, though fortunate
at first, and I am led to suppose that some kind of sleight of hand
had been employed; or, perhaps, that the card of my choice had in some
manner been smuggled away. However, once on a racecourse I saw a horse
which I fancied on his merits. He looked very tall and strong, and was
of a pretty colour, also he had a nice tail. He was hardly mentioned
in the betting, and I got "on" at seventy to one, very reasonable
odds. I backed him then, and he won, with great apparent ease, for his
jockey actually seemed to be holding him in, rather than spurring him
in the regrettable way which you sometimes see. But when I went to
look for the person with whom I had made my bet, I was unable to find
him anywhere, and I have never met him since. He had about him ten
pounds, the amount of my bet, which he had insisted on receiving as
a deposit, "not necessarily for publication," he said, "but as a
guarantee of good faith." Race-courses are crowded, confusing places,
and I doubt not, that so scrupulous a man was also looking for me.