fter all, Kerridge
must ride--and win. He had given particular instructions how
Bandmaster was to be handled. The riding of the horse had been
discussed at the stud groom's house on several occasions. Sam was very
anxious his son should win.

While the bustle and excitement was at its height at Trent Park a
powerful motor car was speeding along the high-road at top pace. The
driver was experienced and working under pressure, he had been promised
a liberal tip if he arrived in time.

Behind sat Alan, endeavoring to restrain his feelings and keep quiet.
From time to time he looked at his watch and replaced it in his pocket
with an impatient movement.

The car stopped with a jerk. The driver was out in a moment. Alan
followed. What was wrong?

The tool box was relied upon. The man knew his work. In a quarter of
an hour the car moved on, but precious time had been lost.

"We'll do it all right," said the driver.

Alan doubted, but held his peace. It would be a terrible
disappointment to arrive too late.

He must keep as calm as possible, excitement was bad for him, his nerve
had been severely tried.

The landscape became more familiar with each mile passed. He was lucky
to be home again. He gave a few thoughts to his recent adventures and
was thankful he had pulled through.

The Park appeared in the distance. A glance at the watch showed it
would be "neck or nothing," he might just do it.

Something went wrong with the steering gear, the car swerved and the
front wheels stuck in the ditch. The driver was shot out and Alan
flung against the back of the front seat. The man was unhurt and on
his feet in a few seconds.

Alan swore; he could not help it.

"Lost by a few seconds," he said.

"I'll have her out," said the driver, who was in the car. By much
display of skill and force he backed it out, fixed the steering gear,
and said:

"Get in, sir, we'll do it yet. Is that the course?" and he pointed to
where the flags waved.

"That's it," said Alan excitedly.

"Is the going on the grass good?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll steer straight for it."

The car bounded over the turf with occasional jumps. Alan held on to
the seat, no chance, the race was timed for three-thirty. The horses
must be going out. He hoped they would be late. Probably there were
many runners, a big field, and the weighing facilities improvised for
the occasion would not conduce to rapidity.

Fred Skane took a final swe