a great multitude. Nobody could fail to understand
either that Aldegonde, who followed right on his heels, would win or
lose for as many. The pair were blood-brothers, sons of the great
Hamburg, but one out of an imported dam, the other from a mare tracing
to Lexington, and richly inbred to that great sire.

Still the line of cleavage was not patriotic nor even international.
Folk had picked one or the other to win freakishly--on hunches of all
sorts, tips of all manners, pure fancy, or "inside information" of the
hollowest sort. As to looks, pedigree, or performance, there was
hardly a pin to choose between the pair. Both were three-year-olds,
tried in the fire of spring racing; both held able to go the distance
and stay the route, in that they had won from everything except from
each other.

By some curious chance they had not met before that season--in their
two-year-old form they had won and lost to each other.

Thus to many onlookers the Far and Near held out a promise of such an
equine duel as would make it the race of the century. And certainly
two handsomer or gallanter beasts than the pair of raking chestnuts,
long-striding, racelike, with white-starred faces and single white
hind feet, never looked through a bridle.

Notwithstanding, the second choices were far from friendless, albeit
their greatest support was for the place or to show. The greeting they
got was tame compared to that of the favorites, but still a volleying
cheer, rising and falling along the quarter-mile of humanity banked
and massed either side the course. Shrewd form players and the plainer
sort had taken liberal fliers on them--that was evident by the way the
shouting mounted in the free field, and the jam in front of the
betting ring.

Not a few of the professional layers had turned their slates and were
out on watch for the event that would mean thousands in or out of
their pockets. Among the second choices Artillery, the black Meddler
mare, was held a shade the best. Next to her came Tay Ho, a son of
Hastings, five years old, who might have divided honors with the
favorites but for being an arrant rogue. To-day he ran in blinkers,
and nodded the least bit in his stride, whereas his stable mate,
Petrel, the last of the second choices, went as free as ever water
ran.

Billy watched the parade, scarcely conscious that Allys clung to his
arm. Hilary stood at her other hand, frowning blackly. The finish line
was almost in front of the