THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 327 



play he had made, looking back at his opponent, when a 

 good opportunity presented itself, after the manner of an 

 experienced jockey, and sitting as tight and steady on his 

 saddle as though he and his horse were one. At the last 

 turn of the course, a good half-mile from home, alarm 

 became apparent in those who had backed him to lose, 

 and exclamations such as these were heard : 



' The young one's hands are down" says one. 



' Yes, and quiet," observes another. 



' I'll bet an even hundred on the young one," roars 

 O'Hara. 



' Done with you," says Lord Marley. 



' I'll bet 6 to 4 on the young one," roars Nightingale, 

 with a small telescope to his eye ; no one answered. 



" It's all over but shouting," exclaims Lilly ; " Antonio's 

 as dead as a hammer." 



Now, then, for the result. The trainer's figure of speech 

 was not carried out to the letter. Antonio was not dead, 

 but only dead beat. In fact, he was beaten in the first 

 mile, and our hero came in a clear length in front, and 

 without stirring a hand, still less a foot. The congratula- 

 tions of his friends were boundless, as he approached the 

 scales to weigh, and his trainer, Mr. Lilly, seemed as happy 

 as if he had won the Derby. 



" This will do," said he to a friend, as he led Nameless 

 from the scales ; " we shall have this young one another time. 

 But upon my soul he has surprised me ; he seems to want 

 no teaching. How like an old one he talks, and how well 

 he rode this race ! " 



And what said the renowned George Burrell, nearly the 

 best of the Bibury jockeys ? 



" The Prince was in luck," said he, " to win the Welter, 

 with a better horse in the race. Had it been run as this 

 has been run, Nameless would have been a length before 

 us all, and hard held too. He is an extraordinary horse, 

 you may depend upon it. Try and buy him," said he, in 

 a whisper, to a friend who was by his side ; "he will win 

 the Welter next year, to a certainty. I could not more 

 than live with him the first mile and a half, and as to 

 heading him afterwards, that was out of the question. 

 And he was not badly ridden." 



" Bravo, Frank ! " exclaimed Hargrave ; " you won your 

 race in style. Pity is it that you cannot ride lighter, for 

 you would make a capital jockey in a very short time." 



