Such admiration was excited by the black mare's appearance, particularly when she broke into a gallop, and Daisy with pardonable coxcombry, turned in his saddle to salute the ladies smiling on him from the Stand, that few but those immediately interested noticed a little shabby, wiry-looking horse come stealing behind the crack with that smooth, easy swing which racing men, though they know it so thoroughly, will sometimes neglect to their cost.
This unassuming little animal carried a plain snaffle in its mouth, without even a restraining nose-band. It seemed quiet as a sheep, and docile as a dog. There was nothing remarkable about it to those who cannot take a horse in at a glance, but one of the Household left his Excellency's Stand and descended into the Ring with a smile on his handsome, quiet face. When he returned the smile was still there, and he observed he had "backed Shaneen for a pony, and had got four to one."
Mr. Sullivan, too, as he marked the little animal increase its stride, while its quick, vibrating ears caught the footfall of a horse galloping behind it, drew his mouth into many queer shapes suggestive of discomfiture, imparting to himself in a whisper, "that if he rightly knawed it, maybe Sir Giles wasn't too free with his offer at all, for such a shabby little garron as that!"
So the cracks came sweeping by in quick succession, St. George, perhaps, attracting most attention from the Stand. A magnificent bay horse of extraordinary beauty, he possessed the rich colour and commanding size of the "King Tom" blood, set off by a star of white in his forehead, and a white forefoot. No sooner did he appear with his scarlet-clad jockey, than the ladies, to use Macormac's expression, were "in his favour to a man!" The property of a popular English nobleman, a pillar of support to all field-sports, ridden by a gentleman jockey, capable, over that course, of giving weight to most professionals, in the prime of blood, power, and condition, he was justly a favourite with the public as with the Ring. In the whole of that multitude, there were probably but two individuals who wished he might break his neck at the first fence, and these two sat in the Ladies' Stand.
"They're all weighed and mounted now but one," observed the General, studying his card. "What is it? Fandango? Yes, Fandango; and here he comes. What a hideous drab jacket! But I say, I'll trouble you for a goer! Why this is Derby form all over!"
"He's a good mile horse anywhere," said the quiet man, who had backed Shaneen; "but he's not meant to win here, and couldn't if he tried. They've started him to make running for St. George."
"What a pretty sight!" exclaimed the ladies, as something like a score of horses, ridden by the finest horsemen in the world, stood marshalled before the Stand. Though the majority were more sedate in their demeanour than might have been expected, three or four showed a good deal of temper and anxiety to get somewhere. Amongst these Satanella made herself extremely conspicuous for insubordination, contrasting strikingly with little Shaneen, who stood stock-still, playing with his bit, through two false starts, till the flag was fairly down, when he darted away like a rabbit, without pulling an ounce. Win or lose, his jockey was sure of a pleasant ride on Shaneen.
"They're really off!" said the General getting his glasses out, as a young officer, extricating himself from the betting ring, announced, breathlessly—
"They've made the mare first favourite, and are laying three to two!"
"What's that in front?" said everybody. "Fandango! Well, they are going a cracker. Fancy jumping at such a pace as that!"