Peppercorn." Dennis Brown stared at his friend.
"Don't be silly! Simon Jackson will romp home." Harold Jupp consulted his little brown book.
"Peppercorn ran second to Petronella at Newbury, giving her nine pounds.
Petronella met Simon Jackson at even weights at Newcastle, and Simon Jackson was left in the country.

Peppercorn must win." "Let us hear the names of the others," interrupted Miranda, running up to the table.
Harold Jupp read out the names.
"Smoky Boy, Paper Crown, House on Fire, Jemima Puddleduck----" and Miranda clapped her hands.
"Jemima Puddleduck's going to win." Both the young men stared at her, then both plunged their noses into their books.
"Jemima Puddleduck," Dennis Brown read, "out of Side Springs, by the Quack." "Oh, what a pedigree!" cried Miranda.

"She must win." Jupp wrinkled his forehead.
"But she's done nothing.

Why must she win ?" asked Dennis.
Miranda shrugged her shoulders at the ineffable stupidity of the young man with whom she was linked.
"Listen to her name! Jemima Puddleduck! She can't lose!" Both the young men dropped their books and gazed at one another hopelessly.

Here was the whole scientific business of spotting winners, through research into pedigrees, weights, records, the favourite distances and race courses of this or that runner, so completely disregarded that racing might really be a matter of chance.
"I'll tell you, Miranda," said Harold Jupp.