340 An Over-reach 



' He's not slowing down,' Addington said. ' Poor old 

 Harry ! how he must be longing to get up his flail ! But 

 he vowed he wouldn't touch his horse till the last dozen 

 strides, whatever happened.' 



' Oh, Hamlet's w^on in a walk,' Skene answered. 

 ' There goes Harry. I knew he couldn't stand it any 

 longer ; but it's no good, old boy, you're done ! ' 



Harry had broken his resolution long before the dis- 

 tance was reached ; but there was some sort of excuse 

 for him all the same, for, doing his best without coercion, 

 the gap between himself and the leader was increasing. 

 He might have saved himself the trouble, nevertheless. 

 Beanfeast could not mend his pace. Hamlet was still 

 going at his ease, and, recognising the hopelessness of 

 the case, Harry wisely ceased to persevere, leaving 

 Hamlet to win in a canter by twenty lengths. 



It was a sore disappointment to the beaten jockey. 

 A lingering notion that possibly he had not won the 

 previous race on his merits had vexed him, and he was 

 doubly anxious to prove — to be able to feel — that there 

 had been no mistake. That victory had been so plea- 

 sant ! and what could such a hollow beating this time 

 mean ? The old horse was well, he knew ; he had done 

 nothing stupid, had not hurried off in pursuit of the 

 leader till Beanfeast was well on his legs, but neverthe- 

 less had lost no time by reason of any vain hope that 

 Tomkins did not know how fast he was going, and would 

 come back to him. He was fully conscious of Tomkins' 

 excellent judgment, and after the first quarter of a mile 

 or so had steadily endeavoured to do a little more than 

 keep his place — gradually to get just somewhat nearer 

 to the red jacket that was dashing along in front. No 

 one, indeed, could have ridden better. The truth was 



