86 THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER 



horseman, Sam Day — but see how he is wasted to 

 bring himself to the weight. Observe the knuckles 

 of his hands and the patellae of his knees, how they 

 appear almost breaking through the skin. But if 

 he have left nearly half his frame in the sweaters, 

 the remaining half is full of vigour ; and we'll 

 answer for it his horse don't find liim wanting in the 

 struggle. Then that slim young jockey, with his 

 high cheek-bones and long neck, in the green jacket 

 and orange cap — surely he must be in a galloping 

 consumption. There is a pallid bloom on his sunken 

 cheek, and he wants but the grave-clothes to com- 

 plete the picture. Yet we need not fear; he is 

 heart-whole and well ; but having had short notice, 

 has lost fifteen pounds in the last forty-eight hours. 

 They are off again ! A beautiful start, and a still 

 more beautiful sight ! All the hues of the rainbow 

 in the colours of the riders and the complexions of 

 their horses. What a spectacle for the sportsmen, 

 who take their stand on the hill on the course to see 

 the first part of the race, and to observe the places 

 their favourites have gotten ; they are all in a cluster, 

 the jockeys glancing at each other's horses ; for they 

 cannot do more in such a crowd. They are soon, 

 however, a little more at their ease ; the severity of 

 tlie ground and the rapidity of the pace throw the 

 soft-hearted ones behind, and at Tattenham Corner 

 there is room for observation. " I think I can win," 

 savs Robinson to himself, " if I can but continue to 



