Echoes of the Hunting Horn 



a chestnut are over first, but The Holy Terror's on their 

 heels. Come on, Jamesy ! Come on, Jamesy ! Ride 

 him, avick ! Mary, darling, he's level with them and 

 twenty lengths to go. They're neck and neck at it. 

 He's going to the front ! Mary, he's going to the front ! 

 Come on, Jamesy ! Great God, I can't see a stime . . . 

 it's all misty . . . can't even see his green jacket. Mary, 

 the sight's leaving my eyes ! Is Jamesy coming in . . . ? 



What's that you say, Miss ? You've won your bet ? 

 . . . The green jockey ? . . . Do you hear that, Mary 

 Ellen ? The green jockey ! Me bould son, Jamesy ! 

 me hardy fella ! 



Do you know, Miss, he's a great gossoon. Ach ! but 

 sure it's not off the bushes he licked it ! 



98 



