"Stick to it, old chap!" "Hang on, Benjamin!" "Give him his head!" "Now we’re jumping!" "Benny’s a nut!" "Oh, my hat, see that!" "Hard to starboard, Benjamin!"—such were the cries that were to be heard above the din as the rider approached the corner. Here, surely, the gallery believed that this meteoric display must terminate. The leap from the second bank to a long straight run carried Benny to the first of the monstrous corners, and here he must be unshipped. As the flash of a blackbird against a curtain of the snow, he rushed the straight and struck the great mound which defended the bend. People saw him shoot high into the air, then fall again with hands gripping the bars of the runners, and eyes which stared from his head. A great "Oh!" went up, a murmur of wonder and amazement. Someone said that he was round the second bank, but no one believed it until a cry from the final straight turned all eyes thither, and Benny was espied leaping to the goal. Then the red flag fell. The race was over—and more wonderful to tell, Benny had won it! No one believed the thing at first. Even Harry Clavering felt very dubious about it, and looked at his watch a good many times before daring to announce the result. "One minute twenty-seven and four-fifth seconds," the chronograph said, and, to be sure, it was no good disputing that. So the kindly little man admitted almost apologetically at last that he really believed Mr. Benson had won. Upon which a curious, half-mocking silence fell upon the company. In a way its pride of judgment was hurt, and it had not the manliness to say so. That the Grand Prix, the race of the year, should be won by a half-savage sailor-man, who knew no more of the science of the game than a heathen Chinee, was surely an insult to the elect of Andana! And then all the fine talk on the part of men like Ian Kavanagh and Keith Rivers, the attitudes and devotions of the Rider girls, were those to count for nothing? An unspoken resentment against the dark horse, who certainly had gone down, left Benny without a cheer. There was only one person in the crowd who spoke an honest word to him, and she was the "little widow." "I’m so glad you won," she said, meeting him in the veranda of the hotel, and quite regardless of the formalities. Benny’s eyes lighted up like lamps when he heard her. "Do you really mean that, Mrs. Kennaird?" "I mean every word of it. Pride has had many falls to-day. I am not at all sorry." "Thank you very much," he said; and then, as simply as a boy, he added: "I knew I should do it if I could stick on." "That’s why you won," she rejoined; "because you knew you would," and with a smile that he would never forget she passed on into the hall. The "little widow" had awarded Benny his prize. He fell there and then to wondering if it were the last he would ever win from her. *CHAPTER III* *CONCERNING A DISOBLIGING GHOST*