FullReads

“He ‘s going to meet ’em!” they shouted, derisively.

Even the gentlemen about the young girl of the white hat in the club box who had backed the brown horse could not help joining in.

“Now, Miss Catherine, where are you?” asked Mr. Newby. “Will you allow that I can pick a horse better than you? If so, I ‘ll let you off.”

“He pulled him out to avoid striking those other men,” declared the girl, warmly. “I saw him.”

“Oh, nonsense! Who ever heard of a man pulling out in a steeplechase to avoid striking another horse? I have heard of a man pulling out to avoid killing his own horse; but that boy pulled out because his horse refused. That horse had more sense than he. He knew he could n’t take it. Hello! what ‘s he doing?” For young Johnston, his face set hard, had turned his horse and headed him again toward the jump. At that moment the other horses were rising the slope on top of which was the next jump, and the brown caught sight of them. He had appeared till now a little bewildered; but the effect was electrical. His head went up, his ears went forward; a sudden fury seemed to seize him, and he shot forward like a rocket, while the crowd on the other side of the track hooted in derision.

“By Jove! He ‘ll go down if he rushes like that,” cried the men in the box. But he did not. He hardly appeared to see the fence before him any more than he heard the jeers of the crowd. With high head and pointed ears, he dashed at it, taking it in his stride, and clearing it with a mighty bound.

The crowd in the stands, carried away, burst into a storm of applause, and the gentlemen about the young girl of the big white hat clapped their hands.

Old Robin, down in the paddock, was shouting and talking volubly to a crowd of strangers.

“He ‘s a jumper! He ‘s got de pedigree. Dat ‘s blood. You ain’ see my old master’s hosses befo’.”

“Your old master’s horses!” growled a gruff voice behind him. “You made me lose fifty dollars on yer blanked horse wid yer blanked lies. You ‘ll pay it back or yer won’t see that watch ag’in.”

Robin glanced at the angry pawnbroker, but he did not have time to argue then. The horse galloping up the long slope before the stables engrossed his attention. He simply edged away from his reviler, who went off to “hedge” his bets, if possible.

“He ‘s a good horse, but he ‘s out of the race,” said one of the gentlemen who had been bantering Miss Ashland.

“Yes, but he never had a chance–a mere flash. You can’t expect a common pick-up to run against a field like that.”

Mr. Newby turned back to the girl, who was leaning forward watching the horse going over the hill.

“Well, Miss Catherine, ready to ask terms yet?”

“No; was n’t that the water-jump!”

“Yes; but he has got to go over it again. Come, I ‘ll bet you twenty to one he does n’t win.”

“Done.”

“Now I ‘ll bet you a hundred and twenty to one he does n’t get a place.”

“Done.”

“Now I ‘ll even things up, and bet you he does n’t come in——“

“Done!” said the girl, turning on him with a sudden flash. “He shall come in, if I have to go down there and ride him in myself.”

An exclamation from one of the others broke in on this banter:

“Blessed if he is n’t gaining on them!”

And sure enough, as the brown horse came out from beyond the hill, though he was still far to the rear of the field, he had undoubtedly lessened the gap between them. The young girl’s eyes sparkled.

“Oh, he can’t keep it up. He ‘s riding his heart out,” said one of the other gentlemen, with his glasses to his eyes. “But he ‘s a better horse than I thought, and if he had had a rider he might—-“