.

"Chukkers is talkin'," he announced. "And he's got somefin to talk about
from all I can see of it."

Any danger there might have been had, in fact, been averted by the
pressing tactics of the Putnam jockey.

The two horses came round the Turn almost together, the inside berth
having brought the mare level again.

Side by side they came over Valentine's Brook, moving together almost
automatically, their fore-legs shooting out straight as a cascade, their
jockeys swinging back together as though one; stride for stride they
came along the green in a roar so steady and enduring that it seemed
almost natural as a silence.

Old Mat shut his glasses, clasped his hands behind him, and steadied on
his feet.

"Now," he said comfortably. "Ding-dong. 'Ammer and tongs. 'Ow I likes to
see it."

He peeped up at the young man, who did not seem to hear. Silver stood
unmoved by the uproar all around him, apparently unconscious of it. He
was away, dwelling in a far city of pride on heights of snow. His spirit
was in his eyes, and his eyes on that bobbing speck of green flowing
swiftly toward him with sudden lurches and forward flings at the fences.

All around him men were raging, cheering, and stamping. What the bookies
were yelling nobody could hear; but it was clear from their faces that
they believed the favourite was beat.

And their faith was based upon reality, since Chukkers for the first
time in the history of the mare was using his whip.

Once it fell, and again, in terrible earnest. There was a gasp from the
gathered multitudes as they saw and understood. That swift, relentless
hand was sounding the knell of doom to the hopes of thousands.

Indeed, it was clear that Chukkers was riding now as he had never ridden
before.

And the boy on the brown never moved.

Three fences from home Chukkers rallied the mare and called on her for a
final effort.

Game to the last drop, she answered him.

But the outsider held his own without an effort.

Then the note of the thundering multitudes changed again with dramatic
suddenness. Hope, that had died away, and Fear, that had vanished
utterly, were a-wing once more. In the air they met and clashed
tumultuously. America was soaring into the blue; England fluttering
earthward again. And the cause was not far to seek.

The boy on the brown was tiring. He was swaying in his saddle.

A thousand glasses fixed on his face confirmed the impression.

"Nipper's beat for the