Derby

An insurance clerk sat in an office in Cornhill, England, arranging typewritten papers in neat dockets and whistling cheerily as if to show his indifference to the rain that beat a tattoo on his roof --like drumming hoofs, he thought. King George of England sat staring politely into the same rain from a box at a race track. In a leather chair in Berkeley Square, London, Lord Woolavington (once Sir James Buchanan) regarded the lengthening silver ash of his cigar, and though separated from each other by space and, apparently by opposing interests, the fortunes of these three gentlemen were interwoven inextricably. They, of all the gentlemen of England, were most concerned in the 143rd English Derby, which was at that moment being run at Epsom Downs.

Others, as well, were concerned in the running of that race. How many others no one knew. Probably every fifth person in the British Empire had money up, or said he had. All day, in costers' wagons and lorries and trains they had poured into Epsom Downs; they stood in the rain, an immense rubber-coated army, silently disliking each other. "All umbrellas down," said a voice. Up and down the ranked lines, a mile and a half long, of that steaming host, black bubbles of silk obediently collapsed; bookmakers put away their last tickets; touts and tipsters, who had offered the winner for as low as a bob, began to wonder who would win, while lords, ladies, greengrocers, and "Barts" felt alike an exhilaration that shook them like a low incessant fever. The horses had begun to run.

At first you could see them. Then you could not. Suddenly again the first horse was apparent, a flying neck with a man hunched against it; the field stood clear for a moment, then active silhouets on the hilltop. They were lost again, in the rain--shapes of fog, flying to no destination more real than the unknown termination of a myth. What horse was leading? It might be Sir Abe Bailey's Lex, an entry which Lady Astor gave the miners in South Wales as a tip to win. It might be Colorado,* the favorite on which a total of some $10,000,000 had been bet because he had recently beaten Coronach, the winter favorite, by five lengths. It might have been Lancegaye. It might be Swift and Sure. It might be Apple Sammy. . . .

It was none of these. The horse that swept under the barrier as smoothly as a cob out for its morning canter, five lengths ahead of Lancegay, which ran second, was a horse owned by James Buchanan/- (now Lord Woolavington), who sat alone with his cigar at Berkeley Square. It was a horse upon which Robert Bishop,** insurance clerk, held the winning ticket in the Calcutta Sweepstakes worth $600,000./= It was a horse for which King George of England politely rose to cheer. It was Coronach.

*At the famous Tattenham Corner a brown mongrel ran out on the track, tried to nip Colorado's heels. British newspapermen made much of this incident, but it is not likely that it had anything to do with the result of the race. Coronach's speed needed no mongrel help.

/-Distiller, chairman of James Buchanan & Co. (Black & White Whiskey).

**Mr. Bishop said he was "too busy to go to horse races." The Derby was an old story to Lord Woolavington; his Captain Cuttle won it in 1922.

/= In 1924, Captain Burman, real estate agent, held the winning ticket, worth $350,000. The winning horse was Lord Derby's Sansovino. In 1925, James Carew, shipping clerk, won the Sweepstake amounting to $365,000. The horse was Mr. H. E. Morriss" Manna.