"Yes. He'll give no trouble though. Three mile and a half is his limit." "Here's Gee-Woa, the Yorkshireman." "Looks an old-fashioned sort." "He can jump a haystack and stay all day; but he can't get a move on." "If there's grief enough he might get home, though." "There's Kingfisher. The West-country crack. Bay and two white ducks." Last but one came Four-Pound-the-Second with his little fair jockey up. The horse was so big, and the jockey so small, that a laugh went up as the pair came by. "What's this in green, then?" "Old Mat's horse. Four-Pound-the-Second. Ten stun." "Anything known of him?" "Won a small race at Lingfield." "Who's riding?" "One o' the Putnam lads. Carries his prayer-book in his pocket. Mar makes 'em--for luck!" "He can foot it." "I'd like to see a walkin'-race between that mare and the big un. What's his price?" He leaned over to the ring below and asked. "Twenties," came the answer. Jaggers heard and nudged Ikey. The Putnam horse marched by, blowing his nose, and in front of the Grand Stand gave a playful little buck as much as to say: "I would if I could, but I won't." Then Chukkers swung round and led the horses back to the starting-point. "Only one thing I wish," muttered Old Mat in his companion's ear. "I wish there'd been rain in the night. Twelve-stun-three'd steady Miss Mustang through the dirt." "Our horse has got a little bit in hand," replied the young man. "You're right, sir," answered the other. The gossip came and went about the pair. Neither heard nor indeed heeded it. The old man was easy, almost nonchalant; the young man quiet and self-contained. The horses drew up to the right, their backs to the Grand Stand, a long, swaying line of silken jackets shimmering in the sun. Old Mat's face became quietly radiant. "Pretty, ain't it?" he said. "Like a bed o' toolups swaying in the wind. I wish Mar could see that. Worst o' principles, they cuts you off so much." He raised his glasses. "Where's Chukkers? Oh, I see. In the middle, and his buffer-hosses not too fur on eether side of him. That's lucky for Chukkers. One thing, my little baa-lamb'll take a bit o' knockin' out." "Where is he?" asked Silver. "Away on the right there," answered the old man. "Doin' a cake-walk on the next hoss's toes." There was very little trouble at the post. The starter got his field away well together at the first drop of the flag. Only one was left, and that was green. The great horse who had been sparring with the air as the flag fell came down from aloft and got going a long six lengths behind the field. Neither he nor his rider seemed the least concerned. "That's my little beauty," muttered Old Mat. "He'll start his own time, he will. Maybe to-day; maybe to-morrow; maybe not at all. One thing, though: he _has_ started." The brown horse was pulling out to the right to lie on the outside. The old trainer nodded approvingly.