first thing we'll see. It's going to look awfully good!"

This day there was no scarlet car to rush them with refreshing
swiftness through Brooklyn's parkways and along the Ocean Avenue.
Instead, they hung to a strap in a cross- town car, changed to the
ferry, and again to the Long Island Railroad. When Carter halted at
the special car of the Turf Club, Dolly took his arm and led him
forward to the day coach.

"But," protested Carter, "when you're spending a hundred dollars
with one hand, why grudge fifty cents for a parlor- car seat? If
you're going to be a sport, be a sport." "And if you've got to be
a piker," said Dolly, don't be ashamed to be a piker. We're not
spending a hundred dollars because we can afford it, but because
you dreamt a dream. You didn't dream you were riding in
parlor-cars! If you did, it's time I woke you."

This day there was for them no box overlooking the finish, no
club-house luncheon. With the other pikers, they sat in the free
seats, with those who sat coatless and tucked their handkerchiefs
inside their collars, and with those who mopped their perspiring
countenances with rice-paper and marked their cards with a hat-pin.
Their lunch consisted of a massive ham sandwich with a top dressing
of mustard.

Dromedary did not run until the fifth race, and the long wait,
before they could learn their fate, was intolerable. They knew most
of the horses, and, to pass the time, on each of the first races
Dolly made imaginary bets. Of these mental wagers, she lost every
one.