And now for the Derby--the great stake race worth so many thousands of
dollars to the winner; the much-talked-of race, in which the most noted
horses in the country, East and West, were to compete for supremacy in
fleetness and endurance, and the most celebrated jockeys to vie with
each other in their peculiar generalship.
Leaving our box, we joined in the crush and forced our way into the
betting-ring. The crowd was enormous, the interest intense. One had
but to listen for a moment to hear every horse in the race
enthusiastically spoken of as "sure to win."
As it was simply useless in that crush to try to keep together, Murray
and I decided to go our several ways, and meet in good time at a place
agreed upon.
Now, although I had said nothing about it, I had quite decided not to
bet upon this event. I had found the second race upon which I had no
bet infinitely more enjoyable than the first, despite the good fortune
chance had thrust upon me; and reasonably so, I think, for with any
kind of a wager up one's interest naturally centers in the performance
of one horse, and the beauty of the race, as a race, is to a great
extent lost sight of.
With something of this idea in mind, I stood watching the frantic
efforts of the crowd to reach the betting stands, wondering idly the
while where all the money so recklessly offered came from in these days
of universal hard times, when I was suddenly accosted by an unknown
youth who asked to see my programme for a minute, explaining at the
same time that "some guy had pinched his, coming through the crowd."