j^ The Great Downshire Handicap 



and Fortimatus, going well within himself, is coming on 

 neck and neck with Puzzle. Old Boatman, sticking 

 to it gamely, is labouring hard, just behind Woodford's 

 mare, wdio is lasting longer than her want of condition 

 seemed to render likely. The sentiments of the opposing 

 parties have changed altogether. Consternation now sits 

 on the faces of Hough and Scully, while Cecil is radiant, 

 and a smile is beginning to curve Howard's lips. 



'It's a thousand to one on him, my boy,' Howard 

 cries. * Dick's playing with the mare. Look at him 

 looking round, and see Black all over his horse. He's a 

 dreadful finisher.' 



'■ The favourite's beat ! ' is now the cry from spectators. 

 * Here, ten to one — twenty to one Puzzle ! ' comes from 

 the ring, followed by ' A hundred to one on Fortunatus 

 — Fortunatus wins ! ' All which is perfectly true ; for 

 Dick, with an amused expression on his face, is critically 

 and contemptuously watching the desperate struggle of 

 his opponent, his own horse going on and winning in 

 the easiest of canters by a very liberal length— it might 

 have been a dozen lengths had he chosen, and that 

 without calling on the animal for an effort. 



The friends grasped each other's hands — a grasp 

 which expressed an infinity of congratulation and rehef 

 — as the winner's number was hoisted, and Dick rode 

 back to the paddock looking as unconcerned as if he had 

 no sort of interest in what had been taking place. 



' Thanks, Dick,' Cecil said, going to the jockey's side 

 as he unfastened the girths and pulled off the saddle. 

 ' It couldn't have been much easier than that ! ' 



' No, sir, and it's just what I expected. I told you 

 that mare didn't stay — there was really nothing to beat.' 



* You don't know what a turn you've done me, Dick ! ' 



