NEWMARKET. 79 



hack, his escort once more gathers round him, and away they 

 dash, as they repass the carriages shouting to the fair occupants, 

 ' Real jam, can't be beat ! ' a piece of information which, as they 

 have only two minutes to profit by it, and no one to bet for 

 them, will not materially benefit the recipients. 



The Danebury division forms into line in close proximity 

 to the throne of Judge Clark, and 'Peter' accommodates an 

 amateur fielder, who has not been to the other side, with fifty 

 to forty, at the same time assuring him, that it's a long way 

 over the odds, and that the bet must be regarded as a mark 

 of friendship and esteem, meriting meet recompense in due 

 season. 



Sir Laudator, who has more on than he quite cares to add 

 up at present, and who is, truth to tell, a trifle nervous, rides 

 away some five hundred yards nearer to the winning-post. 

 Already there has been one false start, the horses are massed 

 in complicated confusion, and the air is thick with flowers of 

 stable rhetoric. Somehow the entanglement unravels itself, and 

 a curved line, with wings thrown forward, spreads over the 

 course, there is a sudden surge up of the centre, and for the 

 fraction of a second a well-dressed front. He who hesitates 

 is lost, and if the converse of the proposition be true, then 

 assuredly is McGeorge one of the saved, for down goes the 

 red flag, down also the white banner in advance, and with a 

 screaming rattle of silk the eighteen sprinters are off. 



To the earlier fluctuations of the struggle, Sir Laudator 

 pays little heed, but when the first quarter of a mile has been 

 traversed, one or two pessimists standing near him vouchsafe 

 their customary growl, that 'the favourite's out of it even now.' 

 As, however, the rushing phalanx approaches he sees for himself, 

 aye, and proclaims aloud that ' the favourite is in it, right bang 

 in it ;' is indeed leading by about half a length, with a couple 

 of light weights racing at his girths. Fordham throws a keen 

 glance to right and left, then, perhaps actuated by a charitable 

 desire to kindle once more a ray of hope in the breasts of the 

 now silent bookmakers, or, which is more probable, thinking 



