Side by side they came over Valentine's Brook, moving together almost automatically, their fore-legs shooting out straight as a cascade, their jockeys swinging back together as though one; stride for stride they came along the green in a roar so steady and enduring that it seemed almost natural as a silence. Old Mat shut his glasses, clasped his hands behind him, and steadied on his feet. "Now," he said comfortably. "Ding-dong. 'Ammer and tongs. 'Ow I likes to see it." He peeped up at the young man, who did not seem to hear. Silver stood unmoved by the uproar all around him, apparently unconscious of it. He was away, dwelling in a far city of pride on heights of snow. His spirit was in his eyes, and his eyes on that bobbing speck of green flowing swiftly toward him with sudden lurches and forward flings at the fences. All around him men were raging, cheering, and stamping. What the bookies were yelling nobody could hear; but it was clear from their faces that they believed the favourite was beat. And their faith was based upon reality, since Chukkers for the first time in the history of the mare was using his whip. Once it fell, and again, in terrible earnest. There was a gasp from the gathered multitudes as they saw and understood. That swift, relentless hand was sounding the knell of doom to the hopes of thousands. Indeed, it was clear that Chukkers was riding now as he had never ridden before. And the boy on the brown never moved. Three fences from home Chukkers rallied the mare and called on her for a final effort. Game to the last drop, she answered him. But the outsider held his own without an effort. Then the note of the thundering multitudes changed again with dramatic suddenness. Hope, that had died away, and Fear, that had vanished utterly, were a-wing once more. In the air they met and clashed tumultuously. America was soaring into the blue; England fluttering earthward again. And the cause was not far to seek. The boy on the brown was tiring. He was swaying in his saddle. A thousand glasses fixed on his face confirmed the impression. "Nipper's beat for the distance!" came the cry. "Brown horse wins! Green jacket loses!" The Grand Stand saw it. Chukkers saw it, too. His eyes were fixed on his rival's face like the talons of a vulture in his prey. They never stirred; they never lifted. He came pressing up alongside his enemy--insistent, clinging, ruthless as a stoat. Silver could have screamed. That foul, insistent creature was the Evil One pouring his poisonous suggestions into the ears of Innocence, undoing her, fascinating her, thrusting in upon her virgin mind, invading the sanctuary, polluting the Holy of Holies, seizing it, obsessing it. And the emotion roused was not peculiar to the young man alone. It seemed to be contagious. Swift as it was unseen, it ran from mind to mind, infecting all with a horror of fear and loathing. "He's swearing at him!" cried the White Hat, aghast.