DEXTER CUTS THE RECORD. 361 



"He'll do it." At length the white-footed flyer was 

 ready, and a hundred watches clicked as he passed 

 beneath the line. "Thirty-four," shouted a hundred 

 voices as he flashed by the quarter. Dead silence 

 ensued. "One ten," whispered the same voices, with 

 suppressed excitement, as the white face disappeared 

 behind the half-mile post, and a pin could have been 

 heard to fall on the grand stand as the horse dashed 

 into the homestretch, moving swiftly, but without 

 apparent effort, toward the goal. "Two-sixteen." 

 "Two-eighteen." "Two-nineteen." (a long breath.) 

 "Two-twenty-one-ahalf," and a wild cry of disap- 

 pointment went through the vast throng. Fawcett 

 glanced at Doble, who merely cast up his eyes, and 

 the owner of the trotting king quietly replaced his 

 watch and sat down to await what he now knew was 

 to be the result. Meanwhile, the unostentatious gen- 

 tleman in a linen duster, and looking like a traveller 

 whom, moreover, nobody knew, drew his time-piece 

 and rubbed his hands with satisfaction, saying 

 nothing. 



It was four o'clock when Doble again appeared on 

 the track, with difficulty restraining the eager horse. 



As before, Ben Mace, on Charlotte F., rode 

 leisurely after him, as they rolled up to the distance 

 flag and turned for the second trial. Again the 

 watches leaped to view and the quiet gentleman rose 

 from his seat, while ten thousand people held their 

 breath in suspense. The pace was already tremend- 

 ous as the horses went under the line and the watches 

 ticked the start. "Thirty-three and a fifth" at the 

 quarter. "One-seven" said the time-keeper when the 

 half was reached. 



