The San Francisco call., 1898-03-18

unique wager of hers. Her race IS pitiful and horrible now to see. It was smooth before, but now the nneS ap- pear In 1t and she ages Defore one very eyes; her poor old face grows pet ulant and peevish and her feVerlshly bright eyes wink hard to keep the tears back.
 But the Irish woman-the Irish Wo- man with voice like grenadier, She sits well up toward the pool seller s desk and she plays like veteran NO replnlng from her, no weak Walllng at 1ate She takes her gains ana losses alike. smiling grimly and betting With a persistence worthy of better things. mat great, tall, scraggy Irish woman IS the one oasis in the Vendome des- ert When she has time-When all the pets on race are in and one may re- Iax-Sne enters into facet1ouS conver- satlon With the pool seller, pelt1nS him with her crude, labored sarcasm, While ne smiles back laZily at her, and in his heavy way returns the verbal blows rom between his shut teeth, which hold tightly the cigar he continually smokes.
 At the Sausalito where MT. Heeney sits over in a corner in a front bay Widowed room the scene is much the same. The room is much smaller and very crowded. There is no bulletin
 
 scrioed thereon publicly displayed. But you bet here, madam, as you do else where. While women sit around gos- siping ever about the jockeys, the horses, the races, past or to come, you march up to the desk, and, hKe the incurable lunatlc you are, you wager 9 cents or 50 cents or s1 that this horse or that will arrive first or second or third. And the result of your marvellous insight into the future is inscribed upon a card a card which the bookseller keeps, for he wants no record of his unlawful bar gain with you left as teiltaie In your hands The man marks down the name of the horse you choose. together with the amount of your bet and your in itials-which means initials that are not yours. For you are coward, madam, as well as lunatic, and you are desperately afraid of being recog- niZed. Some there are whose names are we'll known. These the bookseller himself addresses as Mrs Smith or Mrs. Jones. But as a rule one woman speaks to the other this way:
 What do you like, Mrs.-s-?
 And Mrs.-s-s doesn't wait or want to hear her name. She unbosoms her self promptly of all the information she does (not) possess, and in nine cases out of ten the mere mention of her own choice is enough to set Mrs. No. 1 wavering and doubtfng as to the wisdom of her own bet, Whlcn she Il change and take back if she's allowed to.
 But your name isn't spoken aloud in this reckless way. And you actually think you are unknown.
 Oh. if you knew what an ostrich idead, silly, deceived woman you are! "Fie, for shame! Fie, for shame! Ev- erybody knows your name! You go on in your limited, little way, fiatter- ing yourself that you are where no ac- quaintance Of yours can possibly come. You fancy you are engaging surrepti- tiously in a little illicit excitement, profitable, you hope. You expect to come once again, perh3Is. But you come day after day and week after week, and are stranded when the end of the racing season comes. The po- liceman who watches you enter, the men who know that door which bears a sign about transient lodgings, the very bootblacks on the street smile and sheer at you. There's that old fool. Mrs. K, again. She thinks she's got sure thing this time,' said one man to another, as a respectable looking, neat little old body in black crossed Ellis street and disappeared into Purdy's.
 Poor Mrs. K! She scuttled along, so preoccupfed with the valuable infor- nation she thought she possessed that she didn't have to try to appear uncon- scious.
 Why, even the reporters, madam, strangers to you, know your name and all the pitiful. terrible circumstances of your life It would give you a terrible shock, wouldn't it, to read that you had