And now that adjustment of prices which always takes place just before starting was evidenced in the price of Garryowen. "Listen!" cried Dashwood. "The price has gone to ten to one. Listen!" The roar of the ring flared up, the horses were now at the starting-post, caracoling and curveting.
French saw Andy's black-and-yellow jacket and the purple-and-white of Lofts on Wheel of Fortune. Would the flag never fall? A false start, another false start, and they were off! The purple jacket of White Moth was to the fore three full lengths; after White Moth came Satiety and Garryowen. Garryowen was going as a cloud shadow goes, sweeping and without effort; with him, and drawing slightly ahead, went Wheel of Fortune.
They were racing along the rise now. Satiety had drawn well to the fore, and now, of a sudden, with kaleidoscopic swiftness and effect, the field had changed, and Satiety was no longer to the fore. White Moth had fallen away, the field was fanning out, Wheel of Fortune and Garryowen were leading, Dragon Fly, a rank outsider, had drawn up to Garryowen, and the whole moving cloud of horses were making for Tattenham Corner, the Cape Horn of Luck, where so many a fortune has been wrecked.
Wheel of Fortune was going superbly, and as they drew on the corner a roar like the roar of a sea surged up and down the course. As they swept round the bend, Garryowen was close on the rails, Dragon Fly had drawn wide and was losing ground, Satiety was moving up as though pushed by some unseen finger, and as they swept down the hill only some six horses were left with a chance.
Down the hill the pace was tremendous, heart-catching, sublime, if speed can have sublimity. Wheel of Fortune, halfway down, shot forward, and again the roar, like the roar of a tormented sea, burst out, and rushed up the course, a wave of sound, and died away and rose again.
"Look! look!" cried Dashwood, with his eyes glued to his glasses. The horses had reached the bottom of the hill and beyond, Satiety had fallen back. The struggle was now between Garryowen and Wheel of Fortune. Wheel of Fortune was a length ahead, and the distance was shortening—shortening—shortening.
"They're running neck and neck," yelled Dashwood. "Look! they're nearly on the judges' box. Look! He'll win! Garryowen for ever!"
"You can't tell," cried French. "You can't tell from here. It's a deceiving course. But I believe he will. Garryowen for ever!"
On the hill, away down the course, from Tattersall's ring—itself a little hell of sound—now rose an outburst, one long, never-ceasing roar. A snow of waving handkerchiefs made the stands look as if beset by a million white butterflies.
"Wheel of Fortune wins! Wheel of Fortune wins!"