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MR. HOMASTER'S daughter was undoubtedly the belle of Camden Town, and when she retired from public life, there is less doubt that Mr. Homaster's trade suffered in consequence.

But as Mr. Homaster very rightly said that even the saloon bar was no place for a young lady, and although, as a result of her withdrawal, many clients who had with difficulty sustained themselves at saloon prices returned in a body to the public portion of the "Rose and Hart," where beer is the stable of commerce, Mr. Homaster (he was Hochmeister until the war came along) bore his loss with philosophy, and his reputation, both as a gentleman and a father, stood higher than ever.

Miss Belle Homaster was the most beautiful woman that Educated Evans had ever seen. She was tall, with golden hair and blue eyes, and a fine figure. Across her black, tightly-fitting and well-occupied blouse she invariably wore the word "Baby" in diamonds, that being her pet name to her father and her closer relatives.

Evans used to go into the saloon bar every night for the happiness of seeing her smile, as she raised her delicately pencilled eyebrows at him. She never asked unnecessary questions. A lift of those arched brows, a gracious nod from Evans, the up-ending of a bottle, a gurgle of soda water, and Evans laid a half-crown on the counter and received the change with a genteel "Thenks."

Sometimes she said it was a very nice day for this time of year. Sometimes, when it wasn't a very nice day, she asked, with a note of gentle despair: "What else can you expect?"

It was generally understood that Evans was her favourite. Certainly he alone of all customers was the recipient of her confidences. It was to Evans that she confessed her partiality for asparagus, and it was Evans who heard from her own lips that she had once, as a small girl, travelled in the same 'bus as Crippen.

A friend of his, at his earnest request, spoke about him glowingly, told her of his education and his ability to settle bets on the most obtuse questions without reference to a book. The way thus prepared by his friendly barker, Evans seized the first opportunity of producing samples of his deep knowledge and learning.

"It's curious, miss, me and you standing here, with the world revolving on its own axle once in twenty-four hours, thereby causing day and night. Few of us realise, so to speak, the myst'ries of nature, such as the moon and the stars, which are other worlds like ours. They say there's life on Mars owing to the canals which have been observed by telescopic observation. Which brings us to the question: Is Mars inhabited?"

She listened, dazed.

"The evolution of humanity," Evans went on enjoyably, "was invented by Darwin, which brings us to the question of prehistoric days."

"What a lot you know!" said the young lady. "Would you like a little more soda? The weather's very seasonable, isn't it?"

"The seasons are created or caused by the revolutions of the world—" began

Evans.

But she was called away to tend the needs of an uneducated man who needed a chaser.

Everybody knew Miss Homaster. Even "The Miller." When that light and ornament of the criminal investigation department desired an interview with any of his criminal acquaintances, he was certain of finding them hovering like obese moths about the flame of her charm and beauty.

At eight, or thereabouts, Sergeant William Arbuthnot Challoner would push open the swing doors of the saloon bar and glance carelessly round, nod to such of his old friends as he saw, raise his hat to Miss Homaster and retire.

The news of her engagement was announced two days before she left the bar for good. It was to the unhappy Evans that she made the revelation.

"I'm being married to a gentleman friend of mine," she said, what time Educated Evans clutched the edge of the counter for support. "I believe in marrying young and being true. A wife should be a friend to her husband and help him. She ought to be interested in his business. Don't you agree, Mr. Evans?"

"Yes, miss," said Evans with an effort. "For richer and poorer, in sickness and in woe, ashes to ashes."

"The Miller" learnt of the engagement from Educated Evans.

"I believe in marriage," he said. "It keeps the divorce court busy."

A heartless, cynical man, in whom the wells of human kindness had run dry.

There is a legend that once upon a time "The Miller" had a fortune in his hand, or within reach of that member. "The Miller" never discussed the matter, even with his intimates. Even Educated Evans, who counted himself something more than an ordinary acquaintance, with rare delicacy never referred to that tremendous lost opportunity.

Yet there it was: Fortune, with a row of houses under each arm, had kicked at the door, and "The Miller" had hesitated with his hand on the latch.

Rows of houses, a motor-car, Tatts every day of his life if he so desired, and his ambition moved to such a lofty end—and lost because "The Miller" refused to credit the evidence of his own ears or to accept the dictum of the ancients, in vino veritas.

Mr. Sandy Leman was certainly in vino when "The Miller" pinched him for (1) drunk, (2) creating a disturbance, (3) conduct calculated to bring about a breach of the peace, (4) insulting behaviour. ("He was," to quote the expressive language of Educated Evans, "so soused that he tried to play a coffee stall under the impression it was a grand pianner.") As to the "veritas," was "The Miller" justified in believing that there was only one trier in the Clumberfield Nursery, and that trier Curly Eyes? Mr. Sandy Leman proclaimed the fact to the world on the way to the station, insisted on seeing the divisional surgeon to tell him, and made pathetic inquiries for Mr. Lloyd George's telephone number in order to pass the good news along to one about whom (in moments of extreme intoxication) he was wont to shed bitter tears.

"The Miller" had the market to himself, so to speak, and after much hesitation had five shillings each way. And that, after having decided overnight to take a risk and have fifty to win! Curly Eyes won at 100-6. "The Miller" read the news, cast the paper to the earth and jumped on it. That is the story.

Along the platform of Paddington Station came Educated Evans at a slow and not unstately pace. His head was held proudly, his eyes half-closed, as though the sight of so many common racing people en route for Newbury was more than he dared see, and in his mouth a ragged cigar. Race glasses, massive and imposing, were suspended from one shoulder, an evening newspaper protruded from each of the pockets of his overcoat.

Educated Evans halted before the locked door of an empty first-class carriage and surveyed the approaching guard soberly.

"Member," he said simply.

"Member of Parliament or Member of Tattersall's?" asked the sardonic guard.

"Press," said Evans, even more gravely. "I'm the editor of The Times."

The guard made a gesture.

"Where's your ticket?" he asked, and with a sigh Educated Evans produced the brief.

"Third class—and yesterday's," said the guard bitterly. "Love a duck, some of you fellows never lose hope, do you?"

"I shall take your number, my friend," said Evans, stung to speech. "The Railway Act of 1874 specifically specifies that tickets issued under the Act are transferable and interchangeable—"

The guard passed on. Evans saw the door of a corridor car open and the guard's back turned. He stepped in, and, sinking into a corner seat, blotted out his identity with an evening newspaper.

"I always say, sir," said Evans, as the train began to move and it was safe to appear in public, "that to start cheap is to start well. Not that I'm not in a position to pay my way like a gentleman and a sportsman."

His solitary companion was also hidden behind an extended newspaper.

"It stands to reason," Mr. Evans went on, "that a man like myself, who is, so to speak, in the confidence of most of the Berkshire and Wiltshire stables, and have my own co-respondents at Lambourn, Manton, Stockbridge, and cetera, it only stands to reason that, owning my own horses as I do—hum!"

"The Miller" regarded him coldly over the edge of his newspaper.

"Don't let me interrupt you, Evans," he said, politely. "Let me hear about these horses of yours, I beg! Tell-a-Tale, by Swank out of Gullibility, own brother to Jailbird, and a winner of races; Tipster, by Ananias out of Writer's Cramp, by What-Did-I-Give-Yer."

"Don't let us have any unpleasantness, Mr. Miller," said Evans, mildly. "I'm naturally an affable and talkative person, like the famous Cardinal Rishloo, who, bein' took to task by Napoleon for his garolisty, replied 'There's many a good tune played on an old fiddle.' "

"Not satisfied," continued "The Miller," "with defrauding the Great Western Railway by travelling first on a dud third-class ticket, you must endeavour, by misrepresentation of a degrading character, to obtain money by false pretences."

"The Miller" shook his head, and the straw between his teeth twirled ominously.

"What are you backing in the two-thirty?" asked Evans pleasantly. "I've got something that could lay down and go to sleep and then get up and win so far that the judge'd have to paint a new distance board. This thing can't be beat, Mr. Miller. If the jockey was to fall off this here horse would stop, pick him up, and win with him in his mouth! He's that intelligent. I've had it from the boy that does him."

"If he does him as well as you've done me," said "The Miller," "he ought to glitter! I'm doing nothing but your unbeatable gem in the Handicap. Isaacheim wouldn't lay me the money I wanted, so I thought I'd come down. Not that the horse will win."

The melancholy face of Educated Evans twisted in a sneer.

"It will win," he said with calm confidence. "If this horse was left at the post and started running the wrong way he could turn round and then win! I know what I'm talking about. I can't give you the strength of it without, in a manner of speakin', betrayin' a sacred confidence. But this horse will WIN! I've sent it out to three thousand clients—"

"That's a lie," said "The Miller," resuming his perusal of the Sporting Life.

"Well, three hundred—an' not far short."

Mr. Evans fingered the crisp notes in his pocket, and the crackle of them made music beside which the lute of Orpheus would have sounded as cheerful as a church bell on a foggy morning. He had certainly received inspired information. If Blue Chuck was not a certainty for .the Newbury Handicap, then there were no such things as certainties. He had seen the owner's description of the trial in the owner's pocket-book.

All that morning Mr. Evans had been engaged in despatching to his clients—for he was a tipster not without fame in Camden Town—the glorious and profitable news. For an hour he had carried the tidings of great joy to an old and tried clientèle. Some had been so well and truly tried that they publicly insulted him. Others to whom, leaning across the zinc-covered counter of the public bar, he had whispered the hectic intelligence, had drawn a pint, mechanically, and said "Is this another one of your so-and-so dreams?"

Educated Evans had time to catch the 12.38. Mr. Evans could have afforded a first-class ticket, but he held firmly to the faith that there were three states that it was the duty of every citizen to "best." First came the Government; then, in order of merit, came railway companies; thirdly, and at times even firstly, appeared the bookmaking class.

He had secured his ticket from a fellow sojourner at the Rose and Hart. Its owner valued it at two hog. Evans beat him down to eightpence.

"Making money out of Blue Chuck is easier than drawing the dole," said Evans, as I know. Mr. Miller, you understand these things. What would you put eighteen hundred pounds into if you was me?"

"Eh?" said the startled Miller. "You have got eighteen hundred pounds?"

"Not at the moment," admitted Evans modestly. "But that is the amount I'll have when I come back. It's a lot of money to carry about. House property is not what it was," he added, "nor War Loan, after what this Capital Levy is trying to do to us. Who is this feller Levy, Mr. Miller? It's Jewish; but I don't seem to remember the Christian name."

As the train was passing through Reading, Educated Evans delivered himself of a piece of philosophy.

"Bookmakers get fat on what I might term the indecision of the racin' public," he said. "The punter who follows the advice of his Turf adviser blindly and fearlessly is the feller who packs the parcel. But does he follow the advice of his Turf adviser blindly and fearlessly, Mr. Miller? No, he doesn't."

"And he's wise," said "The Miller," without looking up from his paper, "if you happen to be the Turf adviser."

"That may be or may not be," said Educated Evans firmly. "I'm merely telling you what I've learnt from years an' years of experience—and mind you, my recollection goes back to the old Croydon racecourse. It's hearin' things, it's bein' put off, it's bein' told this, that, and the other by nosy busybodies that enables Sir Douglas Stuart—ain't he? well, he ought to be—to spend his declining days on the Rivyera."

"The trouble with you, Evans," said "The Miller," folding his paper as the train slowed for Newbury, "is that you talk too much."

"The trouble with me," said Educated Evans, with dignity, "is that I think too much!"

He parted from the detective on the platform, and was making his way toward the entrance of the Silver Ring when he stopped dead. A lady was crossing the roadway to the pay gate, and the heart of Educated Evans leapt within him. He knew that black fox fur, that expensive velour hat, those high-buttoned boots. For a second the economist and the lover struggled one with the other, and the lover won. Educated Evans followed hot on her trail, wincing with pain as he paid 2s. 6d. and followed the lady to the paddock.

She turned at the sound of her name, and it must be said of Miss Homaster that her attitude toward Evans was not only extremely cordial but amazingly condescending.

"Why, Mr. Evans, whoever expected to see you?" she said. "What extraordinary weather it is for this time of the year!"

"It is indeed, Miss Homaster," said Evans. "Is your respected father with you?"

"No, I've come alone," said Miss Homaster, with a saucy toss of her head, "and I'm going to back all the winners."

Here was the chance that Educated Evans had been praying for, the opportunity which he never dreamt would come.

He had pictured himself rescuing her from burning houses, or diving into the seething waters of the canal and bringing her back to safety, perhaps breathing his last in her arms; but he had never imagined that the opportunity would arise of giving her "the goods."

"Miss Homaster," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I'm going to do you a bit of good. I've got the winner of the Handicap. It's Blue Chuck; he's a stone certainty. He could fall down and get up and then win."

"Really?" She was genuinely interested as he told her the strength of it.

He left her soon after (he knew his place) and strolled into the ring. He had been in Tattersall's once before, but the experience was not as thrilling as it might have been. An acquaintance saw him and came boisterously toward him.

"Hallo, Educated!" he said. "I've got something good for you, old cock; I've got the winner of the Handicap up me sleeve. Bing Boy! "

He looked round to see that he was not overheard, and in his interest he failed to see the cold sneer that was growing on the face of Mr. Evans.

"This horse," said his acquaintance, "has been tried good enough to win the Derby even if it was run over hurdles! This horse could fall down—"

"And I should say he would fall down," said Evans, his exasperation getting the better of his politeness. "You couldn't make me back Bing Boy with bad money. You couldn't make me back it with bookmakers who had twilight sleep and forgot all that happened a few minutes before. Bing Boy!" he said, with withering contempt.

Nevertheless, Bing Boy was favourite, and the horse that Educated Evans had come to back was at any price. Evans was disconcerted, alarmed. He went into the paddock and saw the scowling owner of his great certainty. He did not look happy. Perhaps it was because he had spent the greater part of the previous evening in an uncomfortable police-station cell.

Evans went in search of the man who gave him Bing Boy to get a little further information.

And they were backing Smocker. He was a strong second favourite, and it was difficult to get 7 to 2 about him. A man Evans knew drew him aside to a place where he could not be overheard by the common crowd and told him all about Smocker.

"This horse," he said impressively, as he poked his finger in Evans' waistcoat to emphasise the seriousness of the communication, "has been tried twenty-one pounds better than Glasshouse. He won the trial on a tight rein, and if what I hear is true—and the man that told me is the boy that does him—Smocker could fall down—"

"There'll be a few falls in this race," said Educated Evans hollowly.

The first few events were cleared from the card, and betting started in earnest over the Handicap, and yet Educated Evans delayed his commission. To nearly three hundred clients he had wired, "Blue Chuck. Help yourself. Can't be beaten." And here was Blue Chuck sliding down the market like a pat of butter on the Cresta Run! Tens, a hundred to eight, a hundred to seven in places.

"Phew!" said Educated Evans.

The notes in his pocket were damp from handling. He made another frantic dive into the paddock in the hope of finding somebody who would give him the least word of encouragement about Blue Chuck.

Again he saw the owner of Blue Chuck, scowling like a fiend.

And then somebody spoke to him, and he turned quickly, hat in hand.

"Why, I've been looking everywhere for you, Mr. Evans," said Miss Homaster.

"I've got such a wonderful tip for you. Your horse—Blue Chuck, wasn't it?—isn't fancied in the least bit. The owner told a friend of mine that he didn't expect he'd finish in the first three."

The heart of Educated Evans sank, but it was not with sorrow for his deluded clients.

"Smocker will win." She lowered her voice. "It is a certainty. I've just been offered five to one, and I've backed it."

"Five to one?" said Educated Evans, his trading instincts aroused. "You can't get more than four to one."

"I can," said the girl in triumph. "I'll show you."

Proud to be seen in such delightful company, Educated Evans followed her, through the press of Tattersall's, down the rails, until near the end he saw a tall, florid young man—no less a person than Barney Gibbet!

"Mr. Gibbet, this is a friend of mine who wants to back Smocker. You'll give him five to one?"

Gibbet looked sorrowfully at Educated Evans.

"Five to one, Miss Homaster?" he said, shaking his head. "No, it's above the market price."

"But you promised me," she said reproachfully.

"Very well. How much do you want on it, sir?"

The lips of Educated Evans opened, but he could not pronounce the words. Presently they came.

"Three hundred," he said in broken tones.

"Ready?" asked Mr. Gibbet, with pardonable suspicion.

"Ready," said Educated Evans.

It proved, on examination, that he only had £240. He had conjured up the other £60, for he was ever an optimist. In the end he was laid £1,100 to £220.

"You won't mind if I give you a cheque for your winnings?" asked Mr. Gibbet. "I don't carry a large sum of money round with me; it's not quite safe amongst these disreputable characters you meet upon racecourses."

"I quite agree," said Educated Evans heartily, and went up to the stand to see the race.

It was a race that can easily be described, calling for none of those complicated and intricate calculations which form a feature of every race description. Blue Chuck jumped off in front, made the whole of the running, and won hard held by five lengths. Two horses of whose existence Educated Evans was profoundly ignorant were second and third. Smocker was pulled up half-way down the straight.

Educated Evans staggered down from the stand and into the paddock. His only chance, and it seemed a feeble one, was that the twelve horses that finished in front of Smocker would be disqualified. But the flag went up, and a stentorian voice sang musically, "Weighed in!"

Educated Evans dragged his weary feet to the train.

"It doesn't leave for an hour yet," said an official.

"I can wait," said Educated Evans gently.

Just after the last race "The Miller" came along the platform looking immensely pleased with himself. He saw Evans and turned into the carriage.

"Had a good race, my boy?" he asked. "I did, and thank you for the tip."

"Not at all," murmured Evans in the tone of one greatly suffering.

"They tried to lumber me on to Smocker, but no bookmakers' horses for me!"

"Is he a bookmaker's horse?" asked Evans with a flicker of mild interest.

"Yes, he belongs to that fellow Gibbet—the man who's engaged to Miss Homaster.

Educated Evans tried to smile.

"If you feel ill," said the alarmed Miller, "you'd better open the window."