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down to the post, he was field I saw nothing. In them taking more out of himself I took no interest, for from my than I should have cared knowledge of them I was sure about if he had been mine. that they could not stand up This performance settled me at this pace. But I could hear in my manœuvre de guerre what I knew to be St Quintin for the race. I felt certain racing behind me. Thus we that The Top could not beat took the first five fences. Then St Quintin for pace at any I felt that the time had come weight. But at the present to steady The Top. If my calweights and distance I be- culations had been correct, the lieved that he could beat him "burster" should have served for fitness. I determined, there- its purpose. We were now fore, to reverse my usual approaching the water, which methods, and instead of ridwas on the inner course in ing a waiting race, to make front of the stand. As I the pace the steepest over the steadied The Top I saw St pony course that Malinagar Quintin's white muzzle for had ever seen. The more St the first time. A momentary Quintin took out of himself glance revealed to me the fact before the start, the better that the big pony was fitter for my scheme. I therefore than I had imagined. There dawdled at the post. I was was no sign of undue distress, the cause of two false starts, and no evidence of anxiety on and then the starter lost his Lidbetter's pale face. Before temper. By way of retalia- letting The Top out for the tion The Top was away like water, I so steadied him that the wind when the flag finally St Quintin's white muzzle went down. came up level with my knee. Together we flew the water. I heard the hoarse cheers of the spectators as we landed. The Top was quicker away after landing than the big bay, but I could see that in the field he had the legs of me. The next fence was an open ditch. I steadied The Top again. Lidbetter did the same by St Quintin. He lay with his pony's nose at my knee. After the open ditch came a wall. I steadied again. Lidbetter did likewise. We flew it together. It was now clear to me that Lidbetter's tactics were to wait on me-to let my honest fencer lead at the jumps, and then when we were over


The exhilaration of that first mile! It almost banished the morbid resentment that had possessed me in the desire to win this race or do something desperate in the attempt. At all times a safe and perfect jumper, The Top was fencing in an extraordinary manner. Something of my elation and desperate purpose must have communicated itself to him, for he simply raced over the jumps, and took off just when I gave him the office. The leaps that he threw were tremendous, yet so accurately did he rise, and so cleverly land, that everything seemed to be in his stride. Of the

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the last fence to beat me by
pace in the straight run in.
He knew that his pony had
the legs of mine, and that once
over the last fence, he could
make the finish as sensational
as he chose. He was artist
enough to wish to win on the
post with a Chifney rush. It
was not therefore now a matter
of racing ponies, but, all else
being equal, a question of my
wit against Lidbetter's.

ter also was glad of a respite. The pace had begun to tell. Of the rest of the field only two were standing up, and they were fencing as if they belonged to another race. St Quintin was still at my knee when we landed over the last fence but one. From here we edged on to the flat-racing course. There was just one flight of hurdles at the distance - post, and then the straight run in.

We had now begun the second-time round, and were It was the time for me to back to the easier fences. A make my last desperate bid fleeting suspicion had come to for victory. I had noticed me. I could afford to verify that while lying almost level it. I pressed The Top again. with me St Quintin had taken Gamely he responded. But off to his fences exactly at the as we landed over a brushed same moment that The Top fence, the white muzzle was took off. It may have been still at my knee. We were Lidbetter's intention to do now coming to the awkward so, or, being so close up, he jump where Lidbetter had may not have noticed it, for brought me to grief in the the bay could jump like a first race. I was determined stag. The remarkable quality that he should not bring this of The Top lay in the fact foul off again. I pushed The that even at his utmost speed Top once more, and gave him he would take off to his jump the office a full length and whenever given the office. a half from the jump. The I was determined that he effort was a big one, and the little pony responded gamely. But the white muzzle was still at my knee. I did not care now, the last fence had confirmed my suspicion. I knew more about St Quintin than my rival knew about The Top. We had come to the bank, and I eased up to it. I had now to give The Top every help I could. He was still going strong, but I should have to save him a little in order to defeat my big-striding rival. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Lidbet


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should throw a record leap at this last hurdle. Halfway through the field I woke him up for the effort. Lidbetter thought I was trying to slip him. He brought St Quintin up to my girth again. Little did he think that by doing so he was giving me my revenge. It would have been far better for him if he had left me to clear the hurdle three lengths in front of him. Even then he could have beaten me in the last furlong. But he was not sure, and would not take

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the risk. I, however, was
sure, and I had determined
to take the risk. I would
not like to say where I gave
The Top the office to take off
at those hurdles. It seemed
to me that it was right outside
the wings. He rose with a
superlative effort, and crashed
with a sob right on to the
top rail.
And I was right.
I saw it all as we scrambled
out of the débris. St Quintin
had acquired the habit of tak-
ing off stride for stride with
The Top. The extra half
length he was behind brought
him, as I had judged it would,
full into the hurdle. I heard
the crash, saw the heap, and
then The Top cantered me in,
a winner without a rival.

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The supreme moment when you have won a race is when you ride back into the paddock. It would be impossible to describe the feelings of exultation that possessed me when I brought The Top, still stepping proudly, back to the weighing - house. I had expected an ovation, for my stable was popular at this meeting. But my entry was marked by a curious silence. "What has happened?" I asked, as I awaited steward's instructions to dismount.

take off where I please. May I dismount?"

"Yes," he answered. "But it's a bad business," he added. "Was it a bad fall?" I queried as I dismounted and began to ungirth.

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"Bad fall?" he repeated; "you have killed them both!' "What?" I cried in amazement; "who's killed?"

The clerk of the scales had turned away, but from the bystanders I learned the truth. St Quintin, taking off simultaneously with The Top, had jumped short. The rail that my pony had broken had entered its chest, and the impact with the ground had driven it home. The bay was killed stone-dead, and in the fall Lidbetter had broken his neck.

My head swam as I sat in the scales. I dimly heard the olerk

of the scales say "Weight," and then Harry Hewett came bustling up. His genial smile had vanished.

"Jimmy," he said, not unkindly, as he put a hand on my shoulder, "the stewards would like to see you in the stand."

As I passed through a lane of my own friends and brother officers I could see that their sympathies were not with me. I cared for nothing at the

The clerk of the scales hur- moment until I saw her face.

ried up.

"Jimmy, we all saw it, you took him into the fence on purpose." There was а note of shocked remonstrance in his voice.

"What rubbish! I was in front, and I suppose I may

I stopped and faced her. "Miss Calthorpe, it is not a case for the stewards at all. It was an accident. I assure you he was behind me."

She said nothing, only looked sorrowfully at me, and her eyes were filled with tears.



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WHEN you've just a single shot left in your locker,
And your soul of all but death is bare and barren,
Be you priest or poet, den or drunken docker,

Here's your haven, here's the wounded rabbit's warren.
If you dread the smoky sunrise of the morrow

Bringing torments, old ones, new ones, without number, Enter here and hide your fear, your sin, your sorrowBuy a bed: perhaps, you may be buying slumber.

When you feel you're a bewildered bit of lumber,
You, the hero, just a zero, just a cipher,

Pay your seven pennies down and be a number-
For it's good to still be human as a lifer!

"Tisn't much; yet when you learn you're 97,

When you're placed in proud possession of your ticket, You've the right to walk the House, and prove the Heaven That awaits you once you pass the porter's wicket.

How you throw your load of sorrow off, and kick it
Down the corridor a-shine with snowy tiling!

What a magic thing, that sevenpenny ticket!
All the black impending future's almost smiling.
You may hold your head up, here, among your brothers;
Yes, you feel the slack Serratus Magnus stiffen-
You have grown; you are a being; they are others:
They are gutter-sparrows, you are still the Griffin.

There's a kitchen where they feed you, so you tiffin-
Sloppy tea and sodden bread and cruel butter!

Ah! it's now the mental back begins to stiffen:
When the belly's full God leaps from every gutter,
There is hope and cheer in London's roar and rumble,
There is promise in the rain's persistent batter,
There is order plain in Life's eternal jumble,

And To-morrow-Lord, To-morrow doesn't matter!

For like stomach-warmth there's none knows how to flatter— O it's Paradise you purchase for a pittance!

With the largess of a steak, why, you would batter Down the Door of Life should Fate deny admittance! Fate? O shoot at Fate the tongue-tip of derision! Pass the iron gates, and mount this stony ladder Leads to Dreamland and the Pisgah-heights of Vision, Piercing sunset skies of saffron and rose-madder.

Here the soul finds poppy-juice to ease and glad her, And the radiant lotus-flower of royal slumber!

Truly, this cemented stair's a golden ladder Angel-cohorts, bearing lilies, climb and cumber. 89, and 93, and 97

That your cubicle? Ah! no, it is your splendid Joyous Gard, the very ante-room of Heaven,

Your Friedenheim with all your frettings ended!

Half, already, of the "ravelled sleeve" is mended Ere you've squirmed below the blanket brown and narrow. (Blessëd blanket! Is it not a buckler splendid Nobly warding off Insomnia's poisoned arrow?) So you open wide your eager arms, and clasping

Close the only steadfast mistress, Sleep; forgetting In her soft embrace your groping and your grasping After food and farthings, all your fear and fretting,

Your wearinesses, multiform, besetting,
Slip from you in the rosy flood of Dreaming:

The Sun shall rise for you, and know no setting,
And Fortune's hands with gold and gems be teeming...
But midway in your dream you hear a sighing,

A dolorous complaint, that breaks your sleeping: "Ah! God, it is a man, a man that's crying!"

And lo! your cheeks are wet. 'Tis you are weeping.

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