178 



TOO CLEVER 



CHAPTEE I 



The race for the Dunchester Stakes was being run, and 

 the horses had neared the distance. Ah'eady there was 

 a tail, for the pace had been good, but there ^Yere still 

 three in it, and the favourite. Little Duke, was one of 

 them. To all but eyes of exceptional acuteness his 

 chance seemed to be at least as good as that of the 

 animals that galloped to right and left of him ; but on 

 one of the stands were a couple of men side by side — 

 one with a somewhat sardonic cast of countenance, whose 

 small dark eyes were hidden for the moment by his 

 race-glasses, and the other of a Saxon type, with a neatly 

 trimmed, light brown moustache ; and it was the latter 

 who, having keenly scrutinised the three horses, said in 

 a quiet but decided tone, ' You win, Moss ! ' 



Mr. Moss hesitated for a moment or t\vo, and then 

 rejoined, ' Yes, it's good ! I knew it was — it's all 

 right ! ' 



Both the speakers had that peculiar gift of seeing 

 what horses are doing which is bestowed upon, or acquired 

 by, so very few. The trainer of the favourite. Little 

 Duke, had indeed shut his glasses and given it up, 

 for he saw what would w4n, though the multitude of 



