If he had had less reverence for his wife, less of that obvious prostration of soul, he probably would never have come to Askatoon.
"I broke my promise," he murmured.

"It was a horse--well, never mind.
I was as sure of Flamingo as that the sun would rise by day and set by night.

It was a certainty; and it was a certainty.

The horse could win, it would win; I had it from a sure source.

My judgment was right, too.
I bet heavily on Flamingo, intending it for my last fling, and, to save what I had left, to get back what I had lost.