THE FINISH
“THE black colt leads! The black colt leads! He wins! He wins! He wins!”
A great shout went up from the straining multitude as The Hundredth Chance, ridden by Sam Vickers, shot past the winning-post three lengths ahead of the horse behind. It was a sensational victory, for it was his maiden race, and the crowd yelled themselves hoarse over it, cheering and cheering again till the black colt came forth in a welter of sweat and foam to gather his laurels, still carrying his jockey and led by his owner, Jake Bolton.
He bore himself proudly, as if fully conscious of the distinction he had won. Jake looked proud too. He stuffed some sugar between the wet lips as he came, and his hand caressed the streaming neck. It was a popular meeting, and it was plainly a popular victory, though the favourite had not proved the winner. Jake Bolton’s name went from mouth to mouth, and the throng cheered him to the echo. He smiled his open, pleasant smile in answer. He had been looking to this moment for the past two years, he had worked hard for it; and his trust in The Hundredth Chance had been vindicated, his labour rewarded. He knew that yet greater victories lay before his favourite. The Hundredth Chance was a born winner. He would be famous.
Back in the paddock a slim, boyish figure leaped to meet him. “Jake, he’s a stunner! Let me hold him a minute, Jake! Well done, Sam! Well done!”
Sam grinned from ear to ear as he dropped from the saddle. “Pretty sight, weren’t it, Sir Bernard?”
“Best I’ve ever seen!” declared Bunny enthusiastically. He led the black colt proudly after his jockey for a few paces, then gave him up and went back to Jake. “Old feller, I’m so jolly bucked,” he said, hugging his arm, “I want to dance on my head. Do you know what I heard a chap say of you just now – a chap who knew too? He said, ‘There goes the Lynx – one of the straightest men on the Turf.’ It sounded just fine. I wanted to go and shake hands with him.”
Jake laughed, a quiet, satisfied laugh. “Was Maud pleased?”
“Oh, rather! She’s going home now, said I was to tell you; said she’d save up and congratulate you in private.”
“That so?” said Jake.
He disengaged himself from Bunny and went about his business, but the smile lingered in his eyes for the rest of the afternoon. And it was the smile of a man who grasps his heart’s desire.
There was a white house on one of the great rolling downs behind the Graydown racecourse, a low, white house with gabled roofs and dark green shutters. There were woodland trees about it, and a terraced garden bright with many spring flowers.