Joel Kenley also saw what occurred, and smiled quietly at Smith's folly. Random, win or lose, ought to have easily beaten Lucky Boy, but a win was a win, no matter whether it came about through the misfortune of others. Jack rode Lucky Boy hard, and although the horse was not thoroughly wound up he responded to the call and struggled on. Smith savagely spurred Random, venting his spite on the horse for a fault that was entirely his own. The severity of the punishment caused Random to almost leap forward, and for a second or two he seemed likely to pass Lucky Boy. It was a vain hope on the part of his backers, for when the winning post was passed Lucky Boy had a couple of lengths to the good. It was a miserable fiasco, this was the universal opinion. An odds on favourite that ought to have won by half-a-dozen lengths was beaten by a miserable outsider. Smith's failure was so glaring that he came in for a volley of groans and hisses, which did not improve his already bad temper. He was accustomed to cheers, and the ominous sound jarred upon him. Jack acknowledged he had a very lucky race and did not expect to receive a warm welcome from the crowd. Racing men, all over the world, however, are good natured, and they cheered the new comer heartily. The owner of Random roundly abused Smith in the paddock, and threatened to call the attention of the Stewards to the spur marks, this, however, at the jockey's request, he did not do. Jack was delighted at his success, and Joel said-- "You won, but Random ought to have beaten Lucky Boy easily. How did Random gallop?" "Very well indeed, I think he is a good horse; he had the foot of Lucky Boy most of the way." "In that case," thought Joel, "Black Boy must be pretty good. I think we are likely to have a bit of fun in the Sydney Cup, a surprise for some of the clever division." Abe Moss did not take Jack's advice, but backed Random, and when the lucky winner said to him-- "I hope you took my advice, Moss," he replied, angrily-- "Much it was worth, Random ought to have romped home." "From which I presume you backed him," said Jack. "If such is the case I am glad of it. I always like to see such men as you lose their money." "What have you against me?" asked Moss angrily. "Nothing at present," coolly replied Jack, as he walked away. "He's one too many for you, Abe," said the man standing next to him. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH _SOMETHING ABOUT WINIFRED_ Meanwhile Winifred was in sore trouble at The Downs, for Sir Lester was very ill, and the doctors took a grave view of his case. He caught a chill at Gatwick, and the cold which followed, being neglected, as such ailments often are, congestion of the lungs followed, and he was now fighting for his life. At times he was unconscious, and Winifred, almost worn out with watching, sometimes thought he had gone, so still and quiet he lay.