The excitement was intense now. Many people seemed to know who the Knight of the Cumberland was, for there were shouts of “Go it, Dave!” from everywhere; the rivalry of class had entered the contest and now it was a conflict between native and “furriner.” The Hon. Sam was almost beside himself with excitement; now and then some man with whom he had made a bet would shout jeeringly at him and the Hon. Sam would shout back defiance. But when the trumpet sounded he sat leaning forward with his brow wrinkled and his big hands clinched tight. Marston sped up the course first--three rings--and there was a chorus of applauding yells. “His horse is gittin' tired,” said the Hon. Sam jubilantly, and the Blight's face, I noticed, showed for the first time faint traces of indignation. The Knight of the Cumberland was taking no theatrical chances now and he came through the course with level spear and, with three rings on it, he shot by like a thunderbolt. “Hooray!” shouted the Hon. Sam. “Lord, what a horse!” For the first time the Blight, I observed, failed to applaud, while Mollie was clapping her hands and Buck was giving out shrill yells of encouragement. At the next tilt the Hon. Sam had his watch in his hand and when he saw the Discarded digging in his spurs he began to smile and he was looking at his watch when the little tinkle in front told him that the course was run. “Did he get 'em all?” “Yes, he got 'em all,” mimicked the Blight. “Yes, an' he just did make it,” chuckled the Hon. Sam. The Discarded had wheeled his horse aside from the course to watch his antagonist. He looked pale and tired--almost as tired as his foam-covered steed--but his teeth were set and his face was unmoved as the Knight of the Cumberland came on like a demon, sweeping off the last ring with a low, rasping oath of satisfaction. “I never seed Dave ride that-a-way afore,” said Mollie. “Me, neither,” chimed in Buck. The nobles and ladies were waving handkerchiefs, clapping hands, and shouting. The spectators of better degree were throwing up their hats and from every part of the multitude the same hoarse shout of encouragement rose: “Go it, Dave! Hooray for Dave!” while the boy on the telegraph-pole was seen to clutch wildly at the crossbar on which he sat--he had come near tumbling from his perch. The two knights rode slowly back to the head of the lists, where the Discarded was seen to dismount and tighten his girth. “He's tryin' to git time to rest,” said the Hon. Sam. “Toot, son!” “Shame!” said the little sister and the Blight both at once so severely that the Hon. Sam quickly raised his hand. “Hold on,” he said, and with hand still uplifted he waited till Marston was mounted again. “Now!”