92 THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER 



existed till very lately in America. The course was 

 cleared, the signal given, and off we went at a pace 

 that appeared to me awful. My orders were to wait, 

 and I obeyed them implicitly. Just as we reached 

 the last turn, and at the very moment when I felt 

 that I could not live the pace, the Eagle bolted to the 

 left, and, despite the giant grasp of the infuriated 

 jockey, left me to win the race as I liked. All that 

 my friend " Bill " had to do was to save his distance, 

 which I permitted him to accomplish, feeling sure 

 that, had I not done so, a wrangle would have 

 ensued. Unquestionably I was wrong in throwing 

 away a chance ; my only excuse is that, to adopt the 

 words of the Egyptian Queen, the Serpent of Old 

 Nile, those were " my salad days, when I was green 

 in judgment." 



' The next event was even more exciting than the 

 first, for I felt that I had to contend against a flyer 

 who, if he only waited, must beat me into fits, and I 

 was not a little cowed at hearing many who had 

 backed me heavily hedging their money freely. In 

 those days, however, my motto was " Never say die," 

 and I took heart, and, cheered on by a few who stuck 

 to me, mounted for the second race. Great, indeed, 

 was my delight when the word " Off! " was given, 

 and the flag lowered, to find that the Eagle flew, like 

 Mazeppa's horse, "upon the pinions of the wind." 

 The jockey had borrowed a regular break-jaw bridle, 

 with the assistance of which he felt that no untoward 



