cricket-balls, and the like--and the whole was to wind up with a
Foot-Race of unexampled length and difficulty in the annals of human
achievement between the two best men on either side. "Tinkler" was the
best man on the side of the South. "Tinkler" was backed in innumerable
betting-books to win. And Tinkler's lungs had suddenly given way under
stress of training! A prospect of witnessing a prodigious achievement in
foot-racing, and (more important still) a prospect of winning and losing
large sums of money, was suddenly withdrawn from the eyes of the British
people. The "South" could produce no second opponent worthy of the North
out of its own associated resources. Surveying the athletic world in
general, but one man existed who might possibly replace "Tinkler"--and
it was doubtful, in the last degree, whether he would consent to come
forward under the circumstances. The name of that man--Julius read it
with horror--was Geoffrey Delamayn.

Profound silence reigned in the coffee-room. Julius laid down the
newspaper, and looked about him. The waiter was busy, in his corner,
with a pencil and a betting-book. The three gentlemen were busy, at the
three tables, with pencils and betting-books.

"Try and persuade him!" said the waiter, piteously, as Delamayn's
brother rose to leave the room.

"Try and persuade him!" echoed the three gentlemen, as Delamayn's
brother opened the door and went out.

Julius called a cab and told the driver (busy with a pencil and a
betting-book) to go to the Cock and Bottle, Putney. The man brightened
into a new being at the prospect. No need to hurry him; he drove,
unasked, at the top of his horse's speed.