A Morning at Newmarket 235 



backed her for all the money that was left him. If she 

 won, well and good ; he would settle down to the life he 

 loved, that of a country gentleman, with plenty to 

 spend when he made those little excursions to town 

 which are so agreeable a break to the rural existence. If 

 she were beaten, he would have just enough left to pay 

 his passage back to Australia, there to begm all his toil 

 again. One can imagine his sentiments as, the day of the 

 race which meant so very much to him having at length 

 arrived, he watched the horses come into sight, come 

 nearer and nearer, as he saw one after another drop 

 away beaten, the mare that carried all his hopes going 

 strong and well, comfortably holding her own. ' Gratitude 

 wins ! ' impulsive members of the crowd begin to shout 

 — ' Come on, Gratitude ! ' and it seems that she is win- 

 ning easily. All the rest are beaten except one that 

 struggles on gallantly, and though Gratitude appears to 

 be going the stronger of the two, her victory is not 

 absolutely assured ; at least, her jockey sees that a final 

 effort is necessary. Under pressure she shoots ahead 

 when a few strides from the post, and ' Gratitude's won ! ' 

 is shouted with increasing confidence. But the rider of 

 the other is an artist ; he has reserved something for 

 the one final rush, and for that something he now calls. 

 So they flash past the post, and voluble spectators inter- 

 ested in the result declare that Gratitude or the other 

 has won, according as their hopes are fathers to their 

 belief. No one except the judge can say for certain. 

 So deceptive ai'e the angles on this wide course that 

 from points of view even near the post horses that are 

 well behind seem well in front. On the judge's board all 

 eyes are eagerly — many feverishly — fastened. Will it 

 be No. 7, Gratitude, or has the other's rush succeeded — 



