THE DEEBT CENTENARY. 235 



had anything to get a line with. Fordham's 

 riding," somebody else replies. " Eather a 

 good-looking horse, but Fordham's luck is all 

 against him at the Derby," the first speaker 

 remarks; ''Victor Chief looks magnificent." 

 A young gentleman who has been investing 

 heavily on the Duke of Westminster's colt most 

 cordially acquiesces, and turns up an oft-conned 

 page in " Euff's Guide" to show a friend what 

 Victor Chief did with Peter last year, how his 

 two-year-old form was superior to anything else, 

 and to explain why he 7nust w^in. The nigger 

 minstrels cease their songs, feeling that an 

 absurd interest in the speed of a number of 

 horses has an attraction over melodious reminis- 

 cences of the " Old Kentucky Shore " ; and the 

 gipsies pause in their palmistry, for a roar 

 proclaims the start. 



In line, like a squadron of cavalry, the 

 twenty- three runners get off. Victor Chief's 

 backer shuts up and pockets his "Kuff" and 

 pulls hard at an unlighted cigar as the cavalcade 

 comes tearing round Tattenham Corner. Like 

 a kaleidoscope, the riders sweep round, the 

 daring jockey who shoots the rails looking very 

 like falling over them ; and, as they come into 

 the straight, a roar for Victor Chief sets a good 

 many pulses beating quickly. But the favourites 



