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not going to ride Daisypicker."

"What the deuce do you mean?" replied Mr. Martin, using a still rougher word familiar to horsey men.

"I have changed my plans, that's all," said Vincent. “ Im ready to pay forfeit and all the charges of the race."

"I'll pay them, sir," whispered Morony, trembling with excitement.

"What game are you up to?" asked Martin passionately. "Don't you know the mare must win, for a dead certainty? The only horse that had a chance of beating her must be withdrawn. Morris is not able to ride Lady Clare."

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her."

Well, that's just it," said Vincent. "I am going to ride

"Ride the devil! What do you mean, man?"

"I have no desire to mount his satanic majesty," said Vincent, calmly. "But I'm going to mount Lady Clare; and win on her, if I can."

"Against your own horse?"

،، We

“No; I'd advise you to withdraw her," said Vincent. can run her next week in Kiltumper. The loss won't be much, and I am willing to bear the brunt of it all."

"Are you a complete idiot ?" asked Martin.

"This race is as

sure to us as if we had the money in our pocket. There is nothing in it to beat us. Let this man get some one else to ride for him, and put his mare in after for the Consolation Stakes. I'll ride her myself if he have no one else."

Morony looked wistfully from one to the other.

"Lady Clare would win if she was rode fair," said he. "No one could ride her like Misther Vincent."

"Confound yourself and herself," exclaimed Martin. "Look here, Talbot, you won't think of making such a Don Quixote of yourself. 'Tis infernal folly. The man can get some one to ride her. It is not on the cards his mare can beat us."

"She has a good chance if she was rode fair," repeated Morony.

"Ah, go to the d know about a horse ?"

!" shouted Martin.

"What do you

"You may as well take yourself easy, Martin," said Vincent, quietly. "Whatever you are going to do, I am going to do as I A race is not much to us. It is prosperity or beggary

tell you.

to this poor man, and I will do my best for him."

"And beat your own horse?"

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Certainly; my own horse, or any other horse. You're not afraid but I'll ride fair, Morony?"

"I'd trust my life in your hands, Mr. Vincent. I'd b'lieve in you as I'd b'lieve in the priest."

"Oh, do as you like, my dear fellow," said Martin in a voice of lofty contempt. "I don't want to force any man. I have to ride Daisy picker myself, I suppose. Though I'm not in training, it is hard if I don't pull her through, and when you're beaten I fancy you will get few to believe but that that was what you intended."

"I don't care a hang what anyone says," answered Vincent, beginning to lose his temper. "I'll win with Lady Clare if it is in her."

After a few more warm words, Daisy picker's owners separated, each determined to pursue his course regardless of consequences.

"Come on, Morony, let me have a look at the mare," said Vincent, and they proceeded to Lady Clare's stable. There was a crowd of countrymen hanging about who were greatly interested in the fortunes of their neighbour; a whisper ran through them when he and Vincent were seen approaching, and when the excited Morony exclaimed:

"Death or glory, boys, Misther Vincent has given up his own horse to ride for me," a cheer burst from the men, and prayers and blessings were poured forth with delighted vehemence.

"Let some one go up to Clancy's for my bag," said Vincent. Two boys started at breakneck pace, as if the success of the day lay in haste, and returned panting in ten minutes.

Lady Clare was stripped, and Vincent's courage rose as he looked critically at her. She was the picture of a racer, long and low, her arched neck showing a crest as hard as steel, while every movement threw out a muscle like whip-cord beneath the polished chestnut hide; her clean hocks, and smooth, well-formed hoofs were faultless.

"There she is, your honour; she doesn't look like a cocktail," said Morony, in tones of pride and joy. "An', if you can't make a hand of her, nobody can."

"She is no bad one to look at," answered Vincent.

He passed his hand over her neck and shoulder, mentally

VOL. XXV. No. 290

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instituting comparison between her and Daisypicker. That morning he had smoothed down the latter with joyous confidence; he was almost sure to win, but the possibility of losing did not cause him any uncomfortable sensations; he took a more serious view of his new mount; a man's prosperity or ruin hung upon her; and perhaps his own honour; for he quite realised the truth of Martin's enraged remark. Many a one might say, if he were beaten, that there was an understanding between him and Martin. However, he had only to do his best; he got all the information he could from Morony concerning her habits, and the best way of managing her temper if she happened to display it.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE RACE.

At one o'clock this first race was to begin, and soon the riders, in their silken jackets, galloped up and down the course, conscious of the admiring kright eyes that watched them, and looking, as every man does, their very best, in that most becoming of all masculine toilets, a racing costume.

Before one o'clock, it was whispered over the course that the owners of Daisypicker had had hot words, and that Vincent Talbot was going to ride Lady Clare.

"By Jove, Vincent is a brick," said Mr. Taylor, coming up to his carriage from the weighing-yard; "he is to ride Lady Clare for Morony; the unfortunate fellow was in the deuce's own funk; Morris couldn't come."

"What! Vincent!" exclaimed Mr. Talbot, "is it possible he is going to make such a fool of himself? I thought I was done with such such

"Ah, sir, you ought to be proud of him," answered Ethna; proud to find him willing to help a poor neighbour."

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Help a neighbour, indeed!" said the old gentleman, testily. "What a notion he has of it; no, but to show himself off in a silk jacket, making a fine fellow of himself."

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Well, and is he not a fine fellow?" replied Ethna, laughingly. "Just what you were yourself at his age, according to mother."

"Your mother is a sensible woman," said Mr. Talbot, with a grim smile; "I wish I could say the same of her daughter. But I don't know where the young people of the present day will stop-riding races, indeed, instead of minding his business."

"He will mind his business, too; he will take after you in that also. Here he is now, and doesn't he look handsome?" answered Ethna.

Vincent rode up, looking certainly to the greatest advantage. He gave a quick glance at his father.

"A very sensible proceeding-very sensible," said that gentleman, calmly; "birds of a feather flock together. You're just the person to help that fool, Morony-just the person."

"I couldn't refuse him, sir," replied Vincent; "he would have to withdraw the mare, And the way you spoke to him yourself this morning determined me. 'Tis neck or nothing with him." "He deserves it richly," said Mr. Talbot, "the like of him keeping a race-horse, 'tis monstrous. Is she any good, do you think?"

"It will be between herself and Daisypicker," answered Vincent, "bar accidents, she's fit enough."

"Oh, I hope you will win, Vincent," exclaimed Ethna.

"If he were on any other horse, I'd wish him to lose," said Mr. Talbot; "riding races indeed!"

One o'clock came, there was general commotion, getting on the tops of carriages, running to walls and ditches, and scrambling on to every possible elevation.

Everything was ready, the bell rang, the flag fell, and five horses started.

Beside Daisypicker, the favourite, and Lady Clare, there was Sunbeam, a fine raking strider, belonging to Captain Hawkes ; Mountain Dew, and Waterwitch, first-class hunter horses, ridden by their owners.

The first to show from the start were Daisy picker and Sunbeam, but on settling to the work the former assumed command and made play in front of him, Mountain Dew, and Waterwitch. Going round the hill after the second fence, Lady Clare closes up. Waterwitch refuses at the next fence, and falls behind. On, on, they come round the hill, where they are lost to sight, out again into view of the breathless spectators. Sunbeam and Daisypicker in front. They near the gripe. With one tremendous stride,

Daisypicker is over it, Sunbeam rises in the air and falls with his rider a struggling mass at the other side; Lady Clare is on his flanks. Viucent pulls the off rein to avoid the fallen man, the mare bungles, but she answers instinctively to her rider's master hand; in a moment she is over it and flying in the wake of her only opponent; she gains in every stride. Martin is using whip and spur; they reach the last fence, they take it side by side; on, on, neck to neck, past the carriages, past the winning-post, the flag falls; it is a dead heat between Lady Clare and Daisy picker. There was great cheering. Bookmakers gazed at each other, while the riders were led into the weighing-yard.

Morony, speechless and exultant, led his reeking horse.

"You've saved us, Mr. Vincent," he cried. "I have an offer for her already-an offer of a hundred and twenty. Oh, Lord! I thought it was all up when I seen her at the gripe."

"What did you think? Did you see me pull her?"

"Sure I knew the reason," said the man; "I knew 'twas to keep clear of Sunbeam."

"Perhaps others would impute a different motive to me,' answered Vincent. "I'm glad 'tis over. I suppose the stakes

will be divided."

"Do as you like, sir; I'm a made man, glory be to God, this day," said Morony, "an' may I never die till I can do a turn for you."

But the race was not settled by the division of stakes. Martin pitched the proposers of such an arrangement to the special keeping of that personage whom it was his wont to invoke on all occasions of excitement. He would have no divisions, no drawn bets. They should run the race again, and let the best man have it. Except to the persons most concerned-Vincent and Moronythis proposal met with most approbation. It would be an exciting contest, the mares were so well matched; but Morony would like to let very well alone. The horse may come to grief, or make such a race that would injure her sale; and Vincent, on his part, was more than ever conscious, if he were beaten, of possible comments of such defeat. However, it was decided. They were to ride the match after the next race, and Vincent had only to hope that Lady Clare's staying powers were as good as Daisy picker's.

The next race passed off without any particular excitement. Lunch baskets were unpacked, knives and forks were in requisition,

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