WHO IS TO RIDE HIM? 323 



close by, with wipers, sponge, and bottle in hand. 

 There is a curious nervous twitching at the corners 

 of his mouth, the lips are dry and parched, and two 

 small red spots adorn each cheek. 



Not so with our friend. He sits his noble 

 animal with confidence, ease, and grace, and as cool 

 as a cucumber. Spying out his faithful old servant, 

 he said, " What do you think of him, Tim ? " 



" Why, sir," he called out, " he's the best horse 

 as was ever foaled ; and if he don't beat that lot " 

 — pointing with extreme contempt towards the line 

 of horses — " Tim Mason knows nothing about it, 

 and is jolly well d d." 



The word is at last given, and at the first attempt 

 the lot are off. 



" They're off ! " shouted the hoarse voices of 

 thousands, and streaming along were some thirty 

 gallant animals striving for the pride of place — 

 thousands, nay hundreds and hundreds of thousands, 

 depending on the lucky animal that first caught the 

 judge's eye. 



The conspicuous colours of George Bradon — 

 scarlet and white hoops — were in the extreme 

 rear, but suddenly as they got into the grass land 

 his gray took first place and made the pace a cracker. 



" The gray in to pump the field," muttered the 

 sly-looking little man to his neighbour. 



