A Lucky Mistake 



225 



jockey had got out his whip and in a moment more was 

 using it vigorously. 



' It's all right, my dear old boy. We win ! " Cranleigh 

 murmured under his breath. 



' I believe we do — St. Christopher will never stay 

 home,' Ash down whispered, for lack of breath and that 

 thumping heart almost took away his power of speech. 

 ' St. Christopher's beaten now ! ' he added, as the jockey 

 on the second favourite also began to ride his hardest. 



' Koquelaure wins ! Koquelaure walks in ! ' comes 

 the cry ; for, still going strong, the bay is two lengths 

 ahead and the distance passed. Leighton looks round 

 to his right, and notes Maid of the Mist and St. 

 Christopher both in sore trouble ; he glances over his 

 left shoulder, and apparently sees something there that 

 he does not like, for he begins to ride the horse with 

 his hands as if anxious to get home. 



' What's that thing in white coming up on the rails ? ' 

 Cranleigh mutters. 



' What is it ? — By Jove, it's catching him ! ' 



' Koquelaure wins ! Come on, Eoquelaure ! ' ' He's 

 beat ! ' ' Not he— he's all right ! Good old Eoquelaure ! ' 

 ' He's won ! W^on a head ! ' ' No — dead heat ! The other 

 got up ! ' ' Nonsense — Leighton won clever ! ' Such 

 were the cries that resounded from all sides as the 

 bearers of the white and the orange jacket swept together 

 past the post. 



' What was that ? Did the other get up ? — I'm 

 horribly afraid he did,' Ashdown exclaimed. 



' I don't know — we shall see in a moment. What 

 was it — all white ? ' Cranleigh answered, rapidly glancing 

 from the judge's box to his card. ' Why, Projectiles — 

 No. 27, that's what it is.' 



