, then?"

"Old Mat's horse. Four-Pound-the-Second. Ten stun."

"Anything known of him?"

"Won a small race at Lingfield."

"Who's riding?"

"One o' the Putnam lads. Carries his prayer-book in his pocket. Mar
makes 'em--for luck!"

"He can foot it."

"I'd like to see a walkin'-race between that mare and the big un. What's
his price?" He leaned over to the ring below and asked.

"Twenties," came the answer.

Jaggers heard and nudged Ikey.

The Putnam horse marched by, blowing his nose, and in front of the Grand
Stand gave a playful little buck as much as to say: "I would if I could,
but I won't."

Then Chukkers swung round and led the horses back to the
starting-point.

"Only one thing I wish," muttered Old Mat in his companion's ear. "I
wish there'd been rain in the night. Twelve-stun-three'd steady Miss
Mustang through the dirt."

"Our horse has got a little bit in hand," replied the young man.

"You're right, sir," answered the other.

The gossip came and went about the pair. Neither heard nor indeed heeded
it. The old man was easy, almost nonchalant; the young man quiet and
self-contained.

The horses drew up to the right, their backs to the Grand Stand, a long,
swaying line of silken jackets shimmering in the sun.

Old Mat's face became quietly radiant.

"Pretty, ain't it?" he said. "Like a bed o' toolups swaying in the wind.
I wish Mar could see that. Worst o' principles, they cuts you off so
much."

He raised his glasses.

"Where's Chukkers? Oh, I see. In the middle, and his buffer-hosses not
too fur on eether side of him. That's lucky for Chukkers. One thing, my
little baa-lamb'll take a bit o' knockin' out."

"Where is he?" asked Silver.

"Away on the right there," answered the old man. "Doin' a cake-walk on
the next hoss's toes."

There was very little trouble at the post. The starter got his field
away well together at the first drop of the flag.

Only one was left, and that was green.

The great horse who had been sparring with the air as the flag fell came
down from aloft and got going a long six lengths behind the field.

Neither he nor his rider seemed the least concerned.

"That's my little beauty," muttered Old Mat. "He'll start his own time,
he will. Maybe to-day; maybe to-morrow; maybe not at all. One thing,
though: he _has_ started."

The brown horse was pulling out to the right to lie on the outside.

The old trainer nodded approvingly.

"That's right, my boy,