"You didn't tell me you had two rides to-day," Gay said, as the three walked off to look at the horse.
"No," Chris replied, as they turned down the hill on the left to the saddling-stalls. "I didn't know myself till just now. M'Nab couldn't do the weight himself, so he asked me."
"And is it a jewelled-in-every-hole, compensated-balance 'pinch,' Chris?" Gay asked, laughing, as she stood by watching the trainer place the tackle on Irish Knight.
"I'm afraid not, though I've got more than an outside chance. I can't advise you to gamble heavily on this occasion, but perhaps a trifle each way will show a profit. You ought to get ten to one in this field."
The horse was led out, and Chris took off his coat, and handed it to the lad. His owner, looking very disappointed at not having the ride himself, saw Chris chucked up, then walked beside him to the plantation avenue leading to the course. As they disappeared, with a wave of the hand from Chris, Gay turned to her brother, and cried enthusiastically:
"Doesn't Chris look ripping on a horse? And can't he ride, too, just! Let's get on the stand and watch the race, and I must have half-a-sovereign even, and place on him for luck."
With one of the men on the rails she placed her wager, getting eight's and even money for a place, then she and the bewildered and annoyed Professor mounted the stand, to watch the horses go down. There were nine runners, all soldier-ridden, a well-known amateur who rode a lot in Ireland being up on the favourite.
They all got safely over the first two fences, and as they galloped past the enclosure, Gay pointed out Chris's scarlet jacket and blue cap, lying fourth, to her brother.
Each time the horses jumped, he gave a convulsive little leap into the air himself, screwing his eyes up painfully, and only half looking at the fences.
"Terribly dangerous!" he muttered. "If one of those fellows fell off, he must be killed."