"Six to four the favourite!" the bookies roared. "Seven to four on the field!" The English, too, woke to the fact that they had a champion at last. A thirst for vengeance, after all they had endured at the hands of the contumelious foe, carried them away. They stood up and howled. The Americans, who had seen the cup of victory brought to their lips and snatched away again, roused by the threat to their favourite, responded wrathfully. Roar answered roar; New England thundered against Old. Chukkers, as always, had steadied the mare after her rush. Now he changed his tactics to meet the new situation. As the horses made for the water, the mare on the rails, and the outsider wide on the right, Chukkers began to nibble at her. The action was faint, yet most significant. "He ain't _ridin'_," muttered Old Mat, watching closely through his glasses--"not yet. I won't say that. But he's spinnin' her." Indeed it was so. The crowd saw it; the Boys, gnawing their thumbs, saw it; the bookies, red-faced from screaming, saw it, too. The crowd bellowed their comments. "She's held!" "The mare's beat!" "Brown's only cantering!" "She's all out!" In all that riot of voices, and storm of tossing figures, two men kept calm. Old Mat was genial; Silver still, his chest heaving beneath his folded arms. "Like a hare and a greyhound," muttered the old man, apt as always. "Got it all to themselves now," said Silver. "And the best horse wins." "Bar the dirty," suggested the trainer. The warning was timely. [Illustration: AINTREE: Plan of Course] Just before the water Rushton pulled out suddenly right across the brown horse. It was a deliberate foul, ably executed. The crowd saw it and howled, and the bookmakers screamed at the offending jockey as he rode off the course into the Paddock. "Plucky little effort!" shouted Old Mat in Silver's ear. "He deserved to pull it off." No harm, in fact, had been done. Four-Pound-the-Second had missed Jackaroo's quarters by half a length; but the big horse never faltered in his stride, charging on like a bull-buffalo, and rising at the water as the mare landed over it. The old man dropped his glasses, and settled back on his heels. "What next?" he said. "Can't do much now, I guess," answered Silver comfortably. Old Mat turned in his lips. "Watch it, sir," he said. "There's millions in it." As the favourite and the outsider swept away for the second round in a pursuing roar, the width of the course lay between them. The mare hugged the rails; the brown horse swung wide on the right. "You're giving her plenty of room, Mr. Woodburn," said the White Hat in front. "Yes, my lord," Mat answered. "'Don't crowd her,' I says. 'She likes a lot o' room. So do Chukkers.'"