"You are sure to win your heat," he said, "and the time of your horse, and the other two heat winners, will tell us what chance you have in the final, but according to the conditions of the race, I think it's a good thing for you." Chris smiled. He had seen too many "good things" come undone, though in this case there were no fences in the way, he reflected. They arrived at the stables in time to watch Brusher Tugwood put the finishing touches to Silver Streak's toe weights. The horse looked splendid, and Gay's brand new colours--blue and white hoops--showed up brilliantly in the wintry sun. Gay walked beside her driver while he led the horse to the track gates. "This _is_ a good thing, isn't it, Tugwood?" she inquired anxiously. "I do so want to win the first time out, you know, though I oughtn't to expect it," she added. "We shall win all right, miss," Tugwood assured her. "Do you pop into the ring and back me as if money--or price--was no object." He climbed into his perch, and turned on to the track, where he let Silver Streak stride along at about half-speed. By the time Gay and the others had got back to the stand, the second bell had rung, and the horses were jockeying on their marks for a start. Gay had invested, through Carlton Mackrell, a couple of pounds on her horse for the driver, Tugwood, and the odds of four to one were obtained. She would not bet herself. "I don't approve of regular betting," she said; "besides, I shall get five pounds if I win this heat, and fifty pounds, actually fifty golden sovereigns"--she clapped her hands and laughed as if she had never seen so much money before--"if Silver Streak wins the final as well!" Bang went the pistol, and the horses were off. "You've won it now," Carlton Mackrell said quietly, his eyes showing his appreciation of the consummate skill of Tugwood in getting off like lightning, and almost in his stride. Though they had to go three rounds for the mile and a half, the value of a good beginning was soon made obvious as Silver Streak swooped down on the horses in front of him approaching the first bend. Along the back stretch he improved to third place, and though the leader was thirty yards and more to the good there, Carlton Mackrell knew that Silver Streak's driver was only biding his time, and would win comfortably, without distressing his horse with a view to the final. "I do believe he will win!" Gay cried breathlessly, as the horses passed the stand, the same one leading, while Silver Streak and a pacing mare called Mrs. Wiggs were racing side by side. "No doubt of it," Carlton Mackrell assured her. "Let me congratulate you." Gay laughed rather nervously. "Thank you," she said, "but not yet. Oh, look, there's something--Mrs. Wiggs, isn't it?--that's passing Silver Streak now. Why doesn't Tugwood go after her?"