great wise act of his life-turned his back upon the race course and
marched into finance, so strongly, so persistently, that at forty he was
wealthy and the banker of Brookfield.

Twenty years of deliberate reminiscence convinced him that he could
gratify the desire that had been his in those immature days, and
possibly work out a paying revenge. Thus it was that he had got
together a small stable of useful horses; and, of far greater moment,
secured a clever trainer, Dick Langdon.

Crane's latter-day racing had been successful--he made money at it. No
man was ever more naturally endowed to succeed on the turf than was
Banker Philip Crane. Cold, passionless, more given to deep concentrated
thought than expression, holding silence as a golden gift--even as a
gift of rare rubies--nothing drew from him an unguarded word, no sudden
turmoil quivered his nerve. It was characteristic of the man that he
had waited nearly twenty years to resume racing, which really came as
near to being a passion with him as was possible for anything to be.
There is a saying in England that it takes two years of preparation to
win a big handicap; and these were the lines upon which Philip Crane, by
instinctive adaptation, worked.

Quite by chance Dick Langdon had come into his hands over a matter of
borrowed money. It ended by the banker virtually owning every horse
that raced in the trainer's name. In addition, two or three horses ran
in Philip Crane's own name. If there had been any distinctive project
in the scheme of creation that gave Dick Langdon to the world, it
probably was that he might serve as the useful tool of a subtle thinker.
Now it did seem that Langdon had come into his own--that he had found
his predestined master.