The crowd in the stands, carried away, burst into a storm of applause, and the gentlemen about the young girl of the big white hat clapped their hands. Old Robin, down in the paddock, was shouting and talking volubly to a crowd of strangers. “He 's a jumper! He 's got de pedigree. Dat 's blood. You ain' see my old master's hosses befo'.” “Your old master's horses!” growled a gruff voice behind him. “You made me lose fifty dollars on yer blanked horse wid yer blanked lies. You 'll pay it back or yer won't see that watch ag'in.” Robin glanced at the angry pawnbroker, but he did not have time to argue then. The horse galloping up the long slope before the stables engrossed his attention. He simply edged away from his reviler, who went off to “hedge” his bets, if possible. “He 's a good horse, but he 's out of the race,” said one of the gentlemen who had been bantering Miss Ashland. “Yes, but he never had a chance--a mere flash. You can't expect a common pick-up to run against a field like that.” Mr. Newby turned back to the girl, who was leaning forward watching the horse going over the hill. “Well, Miss Catherine, ready to ask terms yet?” “No; was n't that the water-jump!” “Yes; but he has got to go over it again. Come, I 'll bet you twenty to one he does n't win.” “Done.” “Now I 'll bet you a hundred and twenty to one he does n't get a place.” “Done.” “Now I 'll even things up, and bet you he does n't come in------” “Done!” said the girl, turning on him with a sudden flash. “He shall come in, if I have to go down there and ride him in myself.” An exclamation from one of the others broke in on this banter: “Blessed if he is n't gaining on them!” And sure enough, as the brown horse came out from beyond the hill, though he was still far to the rear of the field, he had undoubtedly lessened the gap between them. The young girl's eyes sparkled. “Oh, he can't keep it up. He 's riding his heart out,” said one of the other gentlemen, with his glasses to his eyes. “But he 's a better horse than I thought, and if he had had a rider he might----” “He has got to make the Liverpool, and he 'll never do it,” said Mr. Newby. “There he goes now. Watch him. Jupiter! he 's over!” “Did you see that jump? He 's got stuff in him!” “But not enough. He 's got to go around once and a half yet.” “The blue is leading.” “Red-jacket is coming up.” “The green is done for,” etc. So it went, with the horses coming around the curve for the second time. The favorite and about half the others were running well, their riders beginning to take the pace they proposed to keep to the end. Several others were trailing along behind at various distances, among them the two horses that had shot out in the lead at first, and behind all but the last one, which was manifestly already beaten, the big brown horse, galloping with head still up and ears still pointed forward, bent on catching the horses ahead of him.