The mob, ever open to sentiment--especially the sentiment of
beauty--cheered and shouted as she rode with her lover from the winning to
the weighing-post.
'A', she's a bonny un!' exclaimed a countryman, looking intently up in her
face.
'She is that!' cried another, doing the same.
'Three cheers for the lady!' shouted a tall Shaggyford rough, taking off
his woolly cap, and waving it.
'Hoo-ray! hoo-ray! hoo-ray!' shouted a group of flannel-clad navvies.
'Three for white jacket!' then roared a blue-coated butcher, who had won as
many half-crowns on the race.--Three cheers were given for the unwilling
winner.
'Oh, my poor dear Jack!' exclaimed his lordship, throwing himself off his
horse, and wringing his hands in despair, as a select party of
thimble-riggers, who had gone to Jack's assistance, raised him up, and
turned his ghastly face, with his eyes squinting inside out, and the foam
still on his mouth, full upon him. 'Oh, my poor dear Jack!' repeated his
lordship, sinking on his knees beside him, and grasping his stiffening hand
as he spoke.
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