slight stutter.

"No," she said. "I can see."

Later she climbed on to the top of an upturned hamper. As the horses
made the turn for home, he heard her draw her breath.

"Is he down?" he asked.

"No," she said. "He's got 'em beat."

"How do you know?"

"He's begun to ride," replied the girl briefly.

Old Mat was nibbling his pencil in the rear.

"How's it going, Boy?" he wheezed.

"All right," replied the girl. "He's through now."

The dirty green of the Woodburn colours topped the last fence; and
Goosey Gander came lolloping down the straight, his jockey, head on
shoulder, wary to the end, easing him home.

"That's a little bit o' better," said Old Mat comfortably, totting up
his accounts.

"By Jove, he's a fine horseman!" cried the young man with boyish
enthusiasm.

"Monkey Brand!" said the girl, without emotion. "One of the has-beens, I
should say."

CHAPTER III

Goosey Gander

Boy Woodburn came leading the winner through the cheering crowd.

It was Old Mat's horse, Old Mat's race; and they had all got a bit on.
They were pleased with themselves, pleased with the horse, pleased with
the jockey, who, perched up aloft on the great sweating bay, his hands
still mechanically at work, his little dark face shining, chaffed his
chaffers in the voice of a Punchinello.

"Get off him, Monkey," called a joker; "get off quick afore he falls to
pieces. _Do!_"

"Same as you do when I get talkin' to ye!" retorted the little jockey.

There was a roar of laughter at the expense of the joker, who turned
suddenly nasty.

"Who said Chukkers?" he cried.

There was an instant of silence, and then some groans.

"Not me," replied the little jockey grimly.

A snigger rippled through the crowd.

"What you done with your old friend this time, Monkey?" somebody asked.
"Laid him out again lately?"

"No such luck," the other answered. "He's beat it."

"Where is he then?"

The little jockey tossed his head backward.

"Gone back to God's Own Country to find his birf certificate. No flowers
by request."

The reference was to the fact that Monkey's old-time enemy, the
vanquished of Cannibal's National fifteen years before, Chukkers, the
greatest of cross-country riders, was an American citizen of uncertain
origin.

The thrust was received with a fresh outburst from the hilarious crowd.
Monkey Brand's relations with his "old friend" were well known to all.

The little jockey prepared to dismount.