Part 7

The next morning they took breakfast on the tiny terrace of a restaurant overlooking Bryant Park, where, during the first days of their honeymoon, they had always breakfasted. For sentimental reasons they now revisited it. But Dolly was eager to return at once to the flat and pack, and Carter seemed distraught. He explained that he had had a bad night.

“I’m so sorry,” sympathized Dolly, “but to-night you will have a fine sleep going up the Sound. Any more nightmares?” she asked.

“Nightmares!” exploded Carter fiercely. “Nightmares they certainly were! I dreamt two of the nightmares won! I saw them, all night, just as I saw Dromedary, Her Highness and Glowworm, winning, winning, winning!”

“Those were the horses you spoke about last night,” said Dolly severely. “After so wonderful a day, of course you dreamt of racing, and those two horses were in your mind. That’s the explanation.”

They returned to the flat and began, industriously, to pack. About twelve o’clock Carter, coming suddenly into the bedroom where Dolly was alone, found her reading the MORNING TELEGRAPH. It was open at the racing page of “past performances.”

She dropped the paper guiltily. Carter kicked a hat-box out of his way and sat down on a trunk.

“I don’t see,” he began, “why we can’t wait one more day. We’d be just as near the ocean at Sheepshead Bay race-track as on a Fall River boat, and----” He halted and frowned unhappily. “We needn’t bet more than ten dollars,” he begged.

“Of course,” declared Dolly, “if they SHOULD win, you’ll always blame ME!” Carter’s eyes shone hopefully.

“And,” continued Dolly, “I can’t bear to have you blame me. So----”

“Get your hat!” shouted Carter, “or we’ll miss the first race.”

Carter telephoned for a cab, and as they were entering it said guiltily: “I’ve got to stop at the bank.”

“You have NOT!” announced Dolly. “That money is to keep us alive while you write the great American novel. I’m glad to spend another day at the races, and I’m willing to back your dreams as far as ten dollars, but for no more.”

“If my dreams come true,” warned Carter, “you’ll be awfully sorry.”

“Not I,” said Dolly. “I’ll merely send you to bed, and you can go on dreaming.”

When Her Highness romped home, an easy winner, the look Dolly turned upon her husband was one both of fear and dismay.

“I don’t like it!” she gasped. “It’s--it’s uncanny. It gives me a creepy feeling. It makes you seem sort of supernatural. And oh,” she cried, “if only I had let you bet all you had with you!”

“I did,” stammered Carter, in extreme agitation. “I bet four hundred. I got five to one, Dolly,” he gasped, in awe; “we’ve won two thousand dollars.”

Dolly exclaimed rapturously: “We’ll put it all in bank,” she cried.

“We’ll put it all on Glowworm!” said her husband.

“Champ!” begged Dolly. “Don’t push your luck. Stop while----” Carter shook his head.

“It’s NOT luck!” he growled. “It’s a gift, it’s second sight, it’s prophecy. I’ve been a full-fledged clairvoyant all my life, and didn’t know it. Anyway, I’m a sport, and after two of my dreams breaking right, I’ve got to back the third one!”

Glowworm was at ten to one, and at those odds the book-makers to whom he first applied did not care to take so large a sum as he offered. Carter found a book-maker named “Sol” Burbank who, at those odds, accepted his two thousand.

When Carter returned to collect his twenty-two thousand, there was some little delay while Burbank borrowed a portion of it. He looked at Carter curiously and none too genially.

“Wasn’t it you,” he asked, “that had that thirty-to-one shot yesterday on Dromedary?” Carter nodded somewhat guiltily. A man in the crowd volunteered: “And he had Her Highness in the second, too, for four hundred.”

“You’ve made a good day,” said Burbank. “Give me a chance to get my money back to-morrow.

“I’m sorry,” said Carter. “I’m leaving New York to-morrow.”

The same scarlet car bore them back triumphant to the bank.

“Twenty-two thousand dollars?” gasped Carter, “in CASH! How in the name of all that’s honest can we celebrate winning twenty-two thousand dollars? We can’t eat more than one dinner; we can’t drink more than two quarts of champagne--not without serious results.”