The Second String

Random dashed down the course, moving with such freedom that backers were content to lay slight odds on him, and before the flag fell he was a six to four on chance.

Smith thought the race was all over bar shouting, and at the post he smiled sarcastically, as Jack rode up on Lucky Boy, and said to the rider of The Spot —

"Old Joel's going a bit balmy if he fancies that thing has a chance."

"They say the chap on him can ride."

Smith laughed as he replied —

"I think they are well matched, neither of 'em are much to look at."

This was, no doubt, professional jealousy, as Jack cut a far better figure than Smith in the saddle. The race was run over a mile, and at the start Tell Tale went off with a clear lead. Round the back of the course The Spot went up to him, followed by Sandpiper. Jack watched Random, and knew the horse could race up to the leaders at any time.

Smith wondered why Jack stuck so close to his mount, was he a better rider than he imagined? At the half distance Random drew up closer with the leaders, Jack following on Lucky Boy. Two furlongs from the winning post Tell Tale shot his bolt, then The Spot fell back, and Random dashed to the front. Now was Jack's time. If Lucky Boy was to win an effort must be made.

To the surprise of the riders of The Spot and Tell Tale, the outsider, for such Lucky Boy was, shot past them easily and followed close on the track of Random.

When he reached the Leger stand, Smith felt certain the race was won, and eased his mount in order to "canter" home at his leisure. It was a foolish thing to do. To everyone who watched the race, and knew anything about the spot, it looked any odds on Random winning a furlong from home. Had Smith kept him going he could probably have won by half-a-dozen lengths, but this was just where the jockey failed. Jack Redland knew every move on the board in riding a race, and when he saw Smith drop his hands on Random he was sanguine about Lucky Boy's chance. His mount was going well, although he would never have caught Random had he been kept at his top.

Before Smith realised the danger he was in Lucky Boy was alongside him, and the astonished jockey lost further ground through sheer surprise. Instead of Random holding his own the backers of the favourite saw with dismay that Lucky Boy was a very likely winner.

Joel Kenley also saw what occurred, and smiled quietly at Smith's folly. Random, win or lose, ought to have easily beaten Lucky Boy, but a win was a win, no matter whether it came about through the misfortune of others.

Jack rode Lucky Boy hard, and although the horse was not thoroughly wound up he responded to the call and struggled on.

Smith savagely spurred Random, venting his spite on the horse for a fault that was entirely his own. The severity of the punishment caused Random to almost leap forward, and for a second or two he seemed likely to pass Lucky Boy. It was a vain hope on the part of his backers, for when the winning post was passed Lucky Boy had a couple of lengths to the good.

It was a miserable fiasco, this was the universal opinion. An odds on favourite that ought to have won by half-a-dozen lengths was beaten by a miserable outsider.

Smith's failure was so glaring that he came in for a volley of groans and hisses, which did not improve his already bad temper. He was accustomed to cheers, and the ominous sound jarred upon him.

Jack acknowledged he had a very lucky race and did not expect to receive a warm welcome from the crowd. Racing men, all over the world, however, are good natured, and they cheered the new comer heartily.

The owner of Random roundly abused Smith in the paddock, and threatened to call the attention of the Stewards to the spur marks, this, however, at the jockey's request, he did not do.

Jack was delighted at his success, and Joel said —

"You won, but Random ought to have beaten Lucky Boy easily. How did Random gallop?"

"Very well indeed, I think he is a good horse; he had the foot of Lucky Boy most of the way."

"In that case," thought Joel, "Black Boy must be pretty good. I think we are likely to have a bit of fun in the Sydney Cup, a surprise for some of the clever division."

Abe Moss did not take Jack's advice, but backed Random, and when the lucky winner said to him —

"I hope you took my advice, Moss," he replied, angrily —

"Much it was worth, Random ought to have romped home."

"From which I presume you backed him," said Jack. "If such is the case I am glad of it. I always like to see such men as you lose their money."

"What have you against me?" asked Moss angrily.

"Nothing at present," coolly replied Jack, as he walked away.

"He's one too many for you, Abe," said the man standing next to him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH

SOMETHING ABOUT WINIFRED

Meanwhile Winifred was in sore trouble at The Downs, for Sir Lester was very ill, and the doctors took a grave view of his case. He caught a chill at Gatwick, and the cold which followed, being neglected, as such ailments often are, congestion of the lungs followed, and he was now fighting for his life.

At times he was unconscious, and Winifred, almost worn out with watching, sometimes thought he had gone, so still and quiet he lay.

The crisis came at last, and he pulled through, but she felt she would never forget that time of anxiety, almost of despair.

Sir Lester knew what she had done for him, all she had gone through, and her drawn white face showed how she had suffered.

"If it had not been for your daughter, I believe we should have lost you, Sir Lester," said his favourite doctor. "She worked day and night, and orders given were attended to with even more promptitude than in a hospital. She is a wonderful girl, and you are right in being proud of her."

During his days of convalescence Sir Lester found in Winifred a constant companion who never failed to interest and amuse him.

He thought she deserved every happiness this life could give, and knowing what was dearest to her heart, he longed for Jack Redland to come home. He cared not now whether he returned rich or poor; in any case he would offer no opposition, and as Winifred was his only child, there would be sufficient for them when he was gone, and he could look after them during his lifetime.

He had great faith in Jack, and something told him he was prospering, and that when he came home it would not be with empty hands. Winifred guessed his thoughts, and was happy. The colour returned to her cheeks, and she was soon her light-hearted merry self again, although his illness had made a deep impression upon her that would never be effaced. It is in times of sickness and sore distress that the best feelings in our natures are roused. There is the need to act, the necessity for self-denial, duties to be done that cannot be evaded, annoyances that will not be thrust aside. There must be no putting off for to-morrow what can be done to-day, for delay means death maybe, and that ends all in this life.

Sir Lester's illness put the finishing touch to Winifred's womanhood; it brought her to maturity; it roused in her the feelings of maternity, which reliance upon herself always brings to a woman. Her father had been as helpless as a child, and she had nursed him, attended to his every want, anticipated his unspoken wishes, ministered to his pain, and did all that a brave woman knows so well how to do in battling with death, in peace or in war.

She felt the change in herself, but did not quite understand it. Something had been given to her that she lacked before, and it was very wonderful, strangely beautiful and satisfying. She was as gay and light-hearted as ever, but there was more depth in her, a firmness she had hitherto lacked possessed her, and she felt better able to grapple with the world.

Sir Lester was amused. He noticed all these traits and knew the little girl he so fondly loved had developed into a very beautiful woman. He had watched her grow year by year, and hungrily begrudged the advancing age which must make her less reliant upon him. Man-like, he wanted her to be solely dependent upon him, and yet now the time was come, when she was a woman, he loved her better than ever. What a prize she would prove to Jack Redland; he thought of no other man in connection with her: the mere idea seemed desecration. Had he been glad when Jack went away? He doubted it. Relief was the feeling he experienced. And he would again feel it on his return.

Roaming about the country lanes one day, Winifred chanced to linger on the spot where she had last seen Jack turn and wave his farewell. Was it a chance she came there? She tried to convince herself such was the case, but it proved a failure, for she knew she had deliberately walked in that direction.

Was it by chance that the self-same gypsy woman came along at the time and saw her? Probably it was, for she seldom wandered that way. The woman hesitated, and then approached. She knew it was Winifred Dyke, and was aware that Sir Lester disliked liked her and all her tribe. She had not forgotten the handsome young man she had met not far away some year or two before, and something told her there was a connecting link between them. They are wonderfully shrewd, the women of her class, and have a marvellous way of putting things together and weaving elegant and generally acceptable little romances therefrom.

Winifred started when she saw her, and at once it flashed across her mind that this might be the same woman Jack had told her about. The thought interested her strangely. If this were the woman then she had much to do with Jack's going away, ridiculous though it appeared.

"May I look at your hand?" said the gypsy, as though it was the most natural request in the world.

Winifred smiled as she held it out and said —

"If it will give you any satisfaction."

"It is not for my satisfaction, but for your own."

She examined her hand closely, it was beautiful, well shaped, and daintily pink.

"You have had trouble."

Winifred started; then she thought, "She knows who I am, and that my father has been ill; how absurd of me."

"You are happy again. There will be no more clouds. There is someone coming from across the seas. He is a good man and generous. Strange, very strange!"

"What is strange?" asked Winifred.

"There is much money coming to you. See, look at that mark."

There was a tiny line on her hand, and as Winifred looked at it the mark seemed to grow larger.

"There is great wealth, it increases. Look, the line is quite clear now," said the gypsy excitedly.

"It has become clearer because I extended my hand," said Winifred, interested in spite of herself.

"That is not the cause. Only once before have I seen this sign in a woman's hand, and she became a great lady."

Winifred laughed merrily as she replied —

"I am afraid I shall never be a very great lady."

The gypsy curtsied as she answered —

"You are a very beautiful lady, and beauty is greatness."

Then taking Winifred's hand in her own brown one she said —

"You will have good news when you return home – a letter from across the seas."

"When?" asked Winifred.

"To-night, or to-morrow; it is very near."

"I hope so."

"And there will be pleasure for you in it – a surprise; something I do not quite understand."

"Then you cannot tell me the contents of my supposed letter," said Winifred banteringly.

"No; that is hidden from me; but the writer loves you, as many will love you and fail, all but one."

"And what of him?" asked Winifred softly.

She knew it was all nonsense, but it was very sweet foolery and she loved to hear it.

"He is a man who will prove worthy of you, and your life will be full of happiness. I wonder if he is the brave gentleman who helped me a year or two ago, when I saw him not very far from here. I had a sick child, and he gave me all the money he had with him and walked back to Brighton. He was a noble man, worthy of a great love."

Winifred coloured as she said —

"I heard about it; he told me before he went to Australia."

"Then it is the same?" said the woman. "May God bless you both."

Winifred offered her money, and the gypsy eyed it greedily, but shook her head and said —

"No, kind lady, I do not want money for what I have told you."

"But you have a little boy; take it for him."

"Yes, I will take it for him."

Winifred changed her mind, and gave her half a sovereign. The woman's gratitude was unbounded and she showered many blessings on Winifred's head as she went on her way.

Winifred remained standing on the spot looking after her. She wondered if Jack would really come back with the fortune he said he went out to make. It mattered little to her whether he was rich or poor, but she wished him to succeed, and knew how he felt about it.

As she walked slowly home she revolved in her mind all that had taken place since he left. How lonely she had been at first, her old playmate gone, and no prospect of seeing him for some years. She knew she loved him when he had acted under that sudden impulse and taken her in his arms and kissed her. The memory of that embrace was very dear to her. Gradually as she became accustomed to his absence she grew to love him more and more. He was constantly in her thoughts; she wondered where he was, what he was doing. She listened eagerly to Captain Seagrave's account of the voyage, and could have hugged the rough old seaman when he praised Jack up to the skies. The arrival of his first letter was a great event. She read it again and again; it opened up to her a new field of thought, and she wrote him glowing epistles of their doings at The Downs. She knew even trivial things would interest him because she wrote of them, and they told of the dear old country where they had spent so many happy hours together. There were no words of love in her letters; she would not write them, but he would understand, and she meant to leave him perfectly free. The mere thought of Jack falling in love with some other girl sent her into a cold shiver, but she quickly smiled and reassured herself when she thought of that kiss. Then came more letters, and she gloated over his wonderful adventures and pictured him fighting hordes of terrible savages, and diving to the bottom of the sea for pearls. Her father laughed at her, and said that on the whole he fancied Jack was having a very good time, and was far more likely to be dancing with native beauties in scanty costumes than battling with blacks, at which assertion she was highly indignant.

When she entered the house Sir Lester said —

"A letter for you, Win, from – "

"Jack!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, I expect so; we have not many friends in Australia."

She thought of the gypsy woman, and how quickly her words had come true.

She opened the letter and read it eagerly, devouring every word before she proclaimed the contents to her father; but he was contented to wait. He knew how much these letters meant to her.

"Well, what news, my girl?" he asked.

"Oh, it's splendid; it sounds too good to be true – too much like a fairy tale."

"Read and I shall understand," he replied smiling.

She read Jack's long letter, telling her of the adventure of the great black pearl, and how he was determined to secure it for her, and bring it home in triumph. It was one of the finest of pearls, and no one was half so worthy of it as she. He had meant it for her the moment he had found it in the shell. Now an "old thief of a pearl dealer had it," but Barry Tuxford said it was safe, and what Barry affirmed was gospel. Then she read about gold discoveries, mining shares, racehorses, and many other things, and finally wound up by saying on her own account that she always knew Jack would be a success, and that he would make a fortune.

"What do you think of him, father?"

"He is a brave fellow, and worthy of my daughter's love."

"How do you know he has it, or that he wants it?" she asked slily.

"There are certain symptoms, Win, I cannot fail to understand, and if Jack does not want my little girl he's about as big a fool as the earth holds," replied Sir Lester laughing.

"A black pearl. Fancy me wearing such a precious thing. I shall be frightened to touch it, after all the adventures it has passed through."

"You have not got it yet."

"But Jack says he will get it for me, and that is quite sufficient."

"His friend, Barry Tuxford, must be an extraordinary man. I should like to meet him," said Sir Lester.

"And so should I, to thank him for all he has done for Jack."

"Send him a special message in your next letter. He deserves a page to himself," said her father.

"And he shall have it; a whole page," said Winifred.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH

A PUZZLE

The trial had taken place, and Lucky Boy beat Black Boy and two others easily, much to the surprise of Joel Kenley, who could not understand it. On this form Lucky Boy's victory at Rosehill could not have been such a fluke after all.

Jack saw the trial and was puzzled. He had ridden both horses in their work and had a decided preference for Black Boy. On more than one occasion he had galloped with Lucky Boy and beaten him, and yet there was no mistaking the way in which Barry's horse won the trial.

He thought the matter over and came to the conclusion that there must be some mistake, and hinted as much to Joel, who laughed and said there could be no error, because both horses were ridden out, and they carried level weights.

"We ought to have another trial," said Jack.

"I do not advise it. The Cup race takes place next week and both horses are fit. If you take my advice you will back them both and the odds against Black Boy are very tempting. A hundred to three means a big win for a small outlay, and as you can also obtain a hundred to eight about Lucky Boy there is no cause to complain about the tightness of the market."

"They are liberal prices," said Jack, "but not excessive on the form."

Abe Moss was determined to be on the right one of Joel Kenley's pair for the Sydney Cup, and as he knew exactly what Black Boy was capable of he thought after the trial that Lucky Boy held a splendid winning chance. Abe, however, seldom gave anyone credit for acting straightforwardly, and when Lucky Boy won the trial he had doubts about the genuineness of the gallop.

One evening he met Bricky Smiles in Adams' Bar, in Pitt Street. Bricky knew him, and saw no reason to avoid him. Moss seized the opportunity and commenced operations by standing drinks. He knew Bricky's failing, the old jockey took considerably more than was good for him at times, many people in more exalted positions do the same, but they hide it more effectually.

A couple of glasses of whisky and soda loosened Bricky's tongue, and he talked volubly. Gradually Abe Moss led him on to the subject he desired, but the moment he hinted at anything connected with Kenley's stable Bricky became reserved.

"He's not primed sufficiently," thought Moss, and called for more liquor.

They sat down and Moss said —

"If you'll do me a favour, Bricky, I'll make it worth your while."

"Depends upon what it is," he replied.

"There's no harm in it. I merely wish to know your opinion about a couple of horses."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Which horses?"

"Lucky Boy and Black Boy."

Bricky laughed as he replied —

"I fancy you know as much as I do about them, perhaps more, especially about Black Boy."

"Was that a straight go the other morning, when Lucky Boy won?" asked Abe.

"You know Joel Kenley, and that ought to be sufficient. The trial was straight enough."

"Then you think Lucky Boy is the better of the pair?"

"He must be on that form, and the market tells the same tale," replied Bricky.

"I don't care a hang for the market, figures can be faked anyhow. You have not told me your opinion. Come, I'll give you a couple of sovs. for it, that's a professional fee."

Bricky thought there was no harm in expressing his private opinion, it would not be betraying any stable secrets, for it was well known that Joel Kenley preferred Lucky Boy. A couple of sovs. under such circumstances were not to be despised.

"I can only go by the trial," he said. "That is the safest guide, but if you want to know which of the pair is my favourite I may tell you it's Black Boy. Don't run away with the idea that he'll beat the other fellow in the Cup, although I would like to see him do it, Joel knows more about it than I do."

"You have not told me much," said Abe, "but here's a couple of sovs. You really prefer Black Boy to Lucky Boy?"

"As a horse, yes, but whether he will beat him in the Sydney Cup remains to be seen."

"Which shall you back?"

"I have no money to back horses with," said Bricky.

"You had plenty at one time."

"I had and did it on like a fool. I daresay you had some of it."

Abe Moss laughed, he thought this probable, as he had an interest in one or two books and had often played cards and billiards with Bricky.

Jack Redland went into Tattersalls' Club frequently, and was very popular with the members. They recognised him as a good sportsman and readily acknowledged he was a cut above the general run of racing men. Considerable interest was manifested as to which horse out of Kenley's stable he would back, and when he accepted several big wagers about Black Boy at a thousand to thirty there was a disposition to follow his lead. As a natural consequence, Lucky Boy dropped in the quotations, but when Jack snapped up a tempting offer at the extended odds he speedily recovered. There was nothing sensational about these transactions, and when one or two questions were asked he merely replied that he was backing Lucky Boy for Barry Tuxford, and Black Boy for himself.

"We may divide the spoil if either horse wins," he added, laughing.

This was feasible enough, the horses were in different ownerships, and would therefore run independently, but for all this there was an air of uncertainty about it.

If Lucky Boy was the better horse, why had Barry Tuxford cleared out instead of remaining to see his colours carried to victory. It must be very important business to take him away at such a time.

Joel Kenley secured two reliable middle-weights to ride the horses. Andy Wilson was to have the mount on Lucky Boy, Will Sleath was to ride Jack's horse. There was not much to chose between the pair; if anything, Wilson had a larger number of followers. They had ridden the horses at exercise and each jockey fancied his mount, so that a rivalry, quite friendly, existed between them, as to which would prove the better of the two in the Cup.

They were talking it over the night before the race, and eventually decided to make a wager of five pounds aside, each jockey backing his own mount. They were not sanguine of success, as there were many good horses in the race, including three or four cracks from Melbourne.

Jack Redland was exceedingly anxious. Sleath was to wear Sir Lester's jacket, which he had brought out from home, and in which he had ridden Topsy Turvy to victory at Lewes. He impressed upon the jockey that there was a halo of romance hanging about the jacket and that he must strain every nerve to win.

As he looked at the brilliant orange sleeves, and the dark body, he thought of the last time he had worn it and wondered how everything was going with Winifred and Sir Lester. Somehow he felt sanguine of victory, and if Black Boy won he determined to cable to Sir Lester, who would be delighted to receive the news. He wished Barry Tuxford could be present to see the race and judge for himself as to Lucky Boy's running if he was beaten. Not that Barry would doubt anyone, he was too honest for that, but Jack felt it would be a disappointment to him if his horse lost.

It was also an anxious time for Joel Kenley, who had several horses running at the meeting. The trainer was still puzzled as to the merits of "the two boys", as he called the horses. Common sense told him Lucky Boy ought to beat Black Boy, and yet he could not drive away the idea that Jack's horse would beat him, if not actually win.

As he went round the boxes the night before the race, he found Bricky looking earnestly at Black Boy.

"Anything the matter?" asked Joel.