“Yes,” cried Sir Hilton; “then, before I knew where we were, and without waiting for the starter, away we went. Parliament Street was passed in a stride—the mob scattered right and left. Charing Cross and the lions—Cockspur Street—Pall Mall—whirr—buzz—away we went, with the bees swarming round my head. Just at the corner by the clubs I wrenched her head round, and she bounded up Saint James’s Street. A drag to the left, and we were in Piccadilly. A road-car was in the way, but she cleared it in a bound. Cabs strewed the earth, for the strike was over; but she took them all in her stride as we dashed on, just catching a glimpse of the houses to the right—the Green Park to the left. Then, clearing a penny ’bus at Hyde Park Corner, we nearly rushed into the hospital doors. Again I wrenched her head, turning in my saddle in time to see a passenger on the knifeboard pick up his hat. Then down Constitution Hill we swept as if gliding along a chute. In my wild excitement, as we darted by the Palace, I yelled out, ‘God save the King!’ But he was not at home, and we were urging on our wild career past the barracks, along the Bird-cage Walk. The ducks whirred up from the pool, the people shrieked, as we scattered perambulators, nursemaids, and children, flying like leaves upon the wind. Storey’s Gate was closed, but the mare laughed—a loud, weird laugh—as she cleared it, and we dropped in Great George Street, where a newsboy yelled ‘winners!’ with the Parliament House in sight. ‘We win—we win!’ I cried, for it was the goal. ‘Give her her head!’ the people yelled, but the mare took it. She stretched her neck right into infinite space, my silk swelled out like a bubble, and feeling that I must steer now I drew on the reins, hand over hand—hand over hand—to feel her head; but it was half a mile away. At last I got a bite. She took the bait—the bit in her teeth, and I struck, turned her, and we dashed through Palace Yard again, straight for the great Hall doors. ‘M.P. mustn’t pass!’ shouted an inspector, throwing out his arms. ‘Head of the poll!’ I yelled, and the mare went through him like a flash, as we reached the Lobby once more. There was the straight run in, and holding her well in hand I lifted her over the gangway and settled down to win. How they cheered! Opposition to right of me, Government to left of me, and the Speaker ahead of me, waving me on. ‘The Ayes have it! The Noes! The Ayes! The Noes! They volleyed, they thundered. ’Vide—’vide—’vide—’vide!’ and the mare ’vided them as we still tore on, nearer and nearer, till the curls in the Speaker’s wig grew clear, and then the whites of his eyes. Nearer and nearer in the mad excitement of the race, till with one final rush we passed the Mace, the Irish party rising as one man, and ran past the winning-post right into Parliament to the roaring of their wild hurroo!”
“Bravo! Hurroo!” shouted Syd, as his uncle stopped, panting heavily again. “That was how you did it. You won; only you’ve got it a bit mixed. But you’re coming round. I say, you feel ever so much better, don’t you, for getting rid of that?”
“Oh, it’s all over, my lad,” cried the trainer. “Did you ever hear the like?”
“It’s only excitement,” said Syd. “Look at him; he’s calming down now beautifully. You see, he’d got two things on his brain—the race and the election—and having been a bit screwed with the bad stuff you let him have, he naturally got himself a bit mixed.”
“Mixed?” said Sir Hilton, turning upon the boy sharply. “Wasn’t I talking about something just now? But look, look at that man Simpkins rolling his eyes about. Is he going mad?”
“Not a bit o’ it, Sir Hilton; it’s you as is mad. Ain’t it enough as I’ve lost what I have?”
“You lost too?”
“Yes, uncle,” cried Syd, shaking him; “but you haven’t. You won—for all of us. I turned that ten you gave me into a century.”
“I—won?” stammered Sir Hilton, with his hands pressing his temples.
“To be sure you did. You were sitting all of a jelly, and the game was nearly up; but Dr Jack Granton gave you a drench, just as if you’d been a horse. Then we got you into the air, and you came round directly, and ran between us to the saddling paddock, where we set you on to the mare just in time, and you led the field from the beginning. You won in a canter. Can’t you recollect?”