what Piggott led me to do one morning about six weeks back.

When, on reaching the station ten minutes too early, I remonstrated with
him, he apologised.

"I am sorry," he said; "I didn't know you were behind me. I was really
pace-making for 'Flyaway'--there, over there." And Piggott pointed to a
stoutish man with iron-grey whiskers mopping his forehead and the inside of
his hat, and looking incredulously at the booking-hall clock.

"But that is Mr. Bludyer, senior partner in Bludyer, Spinnaway & Jevons," I
said.

"It may be," replied Piggott. "But I call him Flyaway. I find it more
convenient to have a stable-name for each of my racers." And he proceeded
to expound his invention to me.

Like so many great inventors he had stumbled upon the idea by chance one
morning when his watch happened to be wrong; but he had developed the
inspiration with consummate art and skill. It became his diversion, by
means of the pantomime that had so successfully deceived me--by
dramatically shooting out his wrist, consulting his watch, instantly
stepping out and presently breaking into a run--to induce any gentleman
behind him who had reached an age when the fear of missing trains has
become an obsession to accelerate his progress.

"It is amazing," he said, "how many knots you can get out of the veriest
old tubs. This morning, for instance, Flyaway has taken only a little over
six minutes to cover seven furlongs. That's the best I have got out of him
so far, but I hope to do better with some of the others."