Wilfred rode on his way in dignified fashion, as befitting the position of probable winner, but in his heart a feeling of thankfulness to the old trainer by whose advice he had escaped a catastrophe. What a mortification it would have been; how the vane of public opinion would have veered round! He trembled to think of it; and as he drew up after the others, he hardened his heart, resolved that no artifice of the turf should mar his triumph that day.
His rivals went off with an assumption of indifference, as if merely going round for form’s sake; but he took the old horse by the head and sent him away as if he was riding against Time from end to end. His two chief antagonists—for O’Desmond had very properly withdrawn his colt—waited at a reasonable rate of speed until it became apparent that Mendicant’s rider had no intention of altering his pace. Then they set to, and by the way they came up, showed how accurate was Fireball Bill’s calculation.
Suddenly, and without a sign of premeditation, Bob Clarke took his horse by the head, and with one of his many desperate efforts, sent him up so suddenly to the flank of Mendicant, that Wilfred thought the race was lost in good earnest.
But as he heard the approaching hoofs, he too commenced to ‘do the impossible,’ and found that, though nearly level, Bolivar was unable to improve his position, while Mendicant, answering whip and spur, gradually drew in advance, as the winning post and the judge’s stand (and, as it seemed to Wilfred, half Yass at gaze) came to meet him. A few strides, a deafening shout, a rally of whips, and the race is over. But the long, lean head had never been overlapped; and as he pulls up, head down and distinctly ‘proppy,’ half-a-dozen men struggle for the honour of leading Mendicant into the weighing-yard, and his rider knows that he has won. Bolivar, with distended nostril and heaving flank, follows next, with Bob Clarke sitting languidly on his back, and looking nearly as exhausted as his horse; while No Mamma, eased at the distance, drags in, as if she had had enough of it for some time to come. Wilfred takes his saddle and mechanically goes to scale. ‘Weight!’ says Mr. Rockley decisively, and all is over.