Fairweather Friend

Debbie waited for him near the trackside. This time she wanted to be close to the actual race and not watch from a distance. He handed her the ticket for Howard's Hound. She noticed he had another ticket and looked at him quizzically.

"So, who've you done?"

"Fairweather Friend."

Debbie looked at her card and tutted, as if she were an old hand at the game:
"That's no good. He's never even won a race. Look." She pointed out his form. "What a waste of money. At least Howard's Hound has come in second twice in the last three races."

Cantwell began to doubt whether he had done the right thing. Maybe Debbie was right. Then again, it wasn't his money.

The Posthorn Gallop blared out over the speakers. From the corner of his eye, Cantwell caught sight of a scurrying Soppy Soper. Soppy saw him and grinned.

"Who's that?" Debbie asked.

"Oh, just some chap I know. Met him the other day."

"He looks rather odd."

"He's okay - just watch the dogs, Debbie, they'll be in the traps then away and the race will be over in a trice."

Debbie leaned against him:
"I'm really quite excited, Tom. Silly, isn't it? Do you think one of us will win?"

"Fingers crossed, Debs." He found her delight infectious and he became quite absorbed in the whole setup. He almost forgot that really he was on duty and this was no more nor less than police business.

The dogs were put into the traps, the 'hare' was set running. The traps flew open and the dogs tore out and round the first bend. Howard's Hound, a large white dog, was well in the lead. Fairweather Friend, a black dog, was lying in fifth place. Cantwell's heart sank. He was pleased for Debbie but felt a wave of disappointment for himself.

At the final bend, Fairweather Friend made up ground fast. He overtook three of the dogs in front of him. As he flashed past them, it looked to Cantwell as if he had gone into the lead. However, they were standing some distance from the winning post.

The speaker soon crackled into life:
"The winner of the second race on your card is Fairweather Friend by a length; second is Howard's Hound and third ..."

Cantwell never did hear who was third. Debbie had burst out cheering and was jumping up and down:
"We won! We won!"

Two dejected looking punters eyed them in a disgruntled way as they tossed their tickets on the ground. Cantwell had completely forgotten Temple's warning about getting hooked on those 'bloody dodgy dogs'. He was thrilled.

"Let's go and collect the winnings, shall we?"

"How much have we won?" She asked eagerly.

"To be honest, Debs, I'm not too sure. I put a florin on each way for you. Howard's Hound was 10 - 1. I don't know how much they pay out on a second place. You'll get a florin back, plus whatever he gives us. I put five shillings to win on Fairweather and he was 20 - 1."

They edged their way to the first bookie. He grinned at Debbie, as she handed in her ticket:
"Have another go, little lady?"

"Maybe." She smiled coyly, took her money and counted it. "Seven shillings in all, Tom. Not bad for a hunch!" She laughed. "Now let's get yours."

As they approached, the bookie gave them a sour look. He snatched the ticket and spent some time getting out the winnings:
"Beginner's luck, eh? Not so lucky for me though. Why not have another bet? Double or quits."

Cantwell took his money. It was a crisp five pound note plus the original five shillings.

"Oh, you clever old thing, Tom Cantwell! A fiver! You'd better give up being a policeman and take up this betting lark. It pays better and is more fun." She headed back to the trackside to study the race card. "Let's choose something in the third race."

Without the benefit of Soppy's advice, Cantwell knew another winner was highly unlikely. Still, he had to keep her happy and stay till the fourth race when Pippa's Boy would be running.

They peered at the card. Debbie was convinced, once again. Cantwell placed her bet. As he had thought, they lost. Fortunately it was only half a crown.

The prospect of the fourth race set his spirits rising, once again.