The sporting chance

								

sportsman by instinct, so he told himself, and all these years he had
been crushing down his true nature.  Well, it was not too late to
repair the mischief: for now he knew--he knew.
Anthony Royce watched him with kindly appreciative eyes.  There were
moments, though Mostyn was far too absorbed to notice this, when his
broad forehead wrinkled into a frown as he gazed into the young man's
face; it was a peculiar enigmatical frown, suggestive of an effort to
think back into the past, to pierce the veil of years.
Mostyn could hold himself in no longer when the coach had taken up
its place under the hill, and when Sir Roderick, by his little
speech, had discharged his obligation towards his guests.  A few
moments of bustle followed.  Captain Armitage, champagne bottle in
hand, was filling a glass for Lord Caldershot, who was stooping down
from his place upon the coach to take it; Rada was intently studying
a race-card and comparing it with a little pink paper--a paper issued
by some tipster or other; most of the other guests had already
descended and mingled with the crowd.  Among these was Pierce, who
had hurried off after his uncle in the direction of the Paddock.
Mostyn stood up in his place; he was quivering with excitement, all
his nerves seemed on edge.  He stared about him and took in at a
glance the whole wonderful sight--the restless mass of humanity
seething over hill and dale, humanity in all its gradations, from the
coster and his lass to the top-hatted men and smartly-dressed women
who mingled with the throng till they found their centre in the
enclosure and Grand Stand.  The highest in all the land and the
lowest--silk, satin, muslin, rags--Mayfair and Whitechapel--Tom,
Dick, Harry, as alive and playful to-day as in the forties--they were
all there just as Mostyn had read of them many a time.  The white
tents, the extravagantly dressed bookmakers, the itinerant musicians
and jugglers, the gipsies.  He drew a deep breath; he was looking
upon the world!
"I'm glad I came," he cried, forgetting for the moment that he was
not alone.  "For now I know what it is to be alive."
His voice shook.  Anthony Royce laid his hand gently upon the boy's
shoulder.  "I like your enthusiasm," he said, "I understand it.  You
are just making your debût upon a larger stage, and it is a little
overwhelming.  Well, I'll put you through your paces, my boy.  Leave
yourself in my hands and you won't regret it.  I'll guarantee that
your first Derby Day shall not be your last."
Mostyn accepted joyfully.  "You're awfully kind, sir," he said.  "I'm
afraid I should have a poor time by myself, and I don't like to
bother Pierce--besides, he wants to be with Sir Roderick.  It's good
of you to pity my ignorance.  I wonder why you do it?"
Royce made no reply--probably none was expected.  Only that strange
enigmatical smile came once more to his face, and for a moment his
eyes were vacant--again it was as though he were looking back into