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Ann laughed. She couldn’t be angry with him, and she was glad to know her little book of poems wasn’t lost.

“Why didn’t you ask me to lend it to you?” she asked.

“You’d have thought you’d converted me,” he answered, grinning.

“Did you read it?”

He nodded.

“And did you like it?”

“Some of it. I liked bits of that ‘Hound of Heaven’ thing—some of it sounded like a horse galloping. A sort of swinging sound in it. Of course he puts in a lot of long words that don’t mean much. Still, I guess you were right. I expect he’s a poet. I must be off.”

“Good luck,” said Ann. “Don’t forget I’ve got two tickets on your horse.”

“Well, you’ll get a straight run for your money, anyhow. I’ve just put twenty pounds on the tote myself.”

He moved swiftly away towards the saddling paddock, and a few minutes later he was cantering down the straight on Nigger.

Ann told no one she had backed Nigger. That was her little secret—hers and Rodney’s. Why was she glad to share this with him? And why glad that he had impertinently stolen her book? She didn’t know; but it seemed to establish some small bond of friendship between them. Of course he wouldn’t win! Everybody said he hadn’t a chance. Nevertheless, Ann felt no regret for the loss of her two pounds. She and Kent joined the others in the stand to watch the race. There were seven horses running, and some of them gave a little trouble at the starting-post.