Still there are ten left, and nobody ever reckoned
upon these getting to the far end.
'Master wins, for a 'undr'd!' exclaims Leather, as, getting into the third
field, Mr. Sponge takes a decided lead; and Lucy, encouraged by the sound,
looks up, and sees her 'white jacket' throwing the dry fallow in the faces
of the field.
'Oh, how I hope he will!' exclaims she, clasping her hands, with upturned
eyes; but when she ventures on another look, she sees old Spraggon drawing
upon him, Hangallows's flaming red jacket not far off, and several others
nearer than she liked. Still the tail was beginning to form. Another fence,
and that a big one, draws it out. A striped jacket is down, and the horse,
after a vain effort to rise, sinks lifeless on the ground. On they go all
the same!
Loud yells of exciting betting burst from the spectators, and Buckram gets
well on for the cross.
There are now five in front--Sponge, Spraggon, Hangallows, Boville, and
another; and already the pace begins to tell. It wasn't possible to run it
at the rate they started.
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