It was a three-quarter dash, and at the half she had a lead of at least ten lengths, with the others strung out in a regular procession. The favorite was trailing along in fifth place; but Checkers noticed that he was "running easy." The jockey was leaning back in the saddle, and the horse's mouth was pulled wide open, as he fought for his head under a double wrap.
As they rounded into the stretch Remorse still led, but she seemed to be tiring rapidly. The favorite swung very wide at the turn, losing several lengths; his jockey then drew in behind three others, and allowed himself to be hopelessly "pocketed."
Up to now Checkers' new acquaintance had been silent; but at this exhibition of incompetent jockeyship he expressed a desire to be "good and damned if that ride would n't frost a cigar-sign Indian."
Under whip and spur Remorse staggered on two lengths in the lead. Within fifty feet of the wire the favorite got through, and coming with a rush, as it seemed almost in spite of his jockey's efforts to restrain him, he nipped Remorse on the post.
From where Checkers stood it looked as though Remorse was beaten half a length. The crowd yelled with delight; No. 4 was posted. Checkers looked at his programme—"Remorse, No. 4." Then it was his turn to yell, and he rather abused his privilege. The tumult of varied emotion within him demanded this vent, and he gave it full play. "I thought I was out of it," he laughed delightedly to the young man beside him. "It looked like it, did n't it, at the angle? You see, Remorse had the rail."
But the young man was n't interested in Checkers' good luck. Just then he had "troubles of his own." He vouchsafed one glance of sour contempt and hurried off to try to borrow car-fare from some one.
Often Checkers had won and lost more money than was involved in his present venture and stood it stoically; but never before had his need been so great, and he had reason to know that necessity and luck have at best little more than a speaking acquaintance. Exultantly, therefore, he skipped down the stairs into the betting-ring. "You can 't keep a squirrel on the ground," he chuckled. "They 've got to stop printing money when I ain't got some." The next minute he was in line behind the stand where he had made his purchase, tightly grasping the ticket which was to give him back his gold-piece and four hundred dollars.
Four hundred dollars! It was a snug little sum. The gold-piece had proved a mascot after all. Now, he would "get out" his overcoat and purchase some other necessary articles. He decided to pay off his landlady and find some more inviting quarters. But the pleasantest thought of all was that now he could write to Pert. The delight he found in this reflection could only have been surpassed by the joy of seeing her in person. He did not know what he should say; but he knew that with this load off his heart, and with the return to self-respect which this success had brought him, he would be able to write a letter which would encourage and cheer her—it should be his first task. He longed to be at it, and he began to chafe at what seemed an unusual delay in announcing "the official."
Turning, he glanced toward the judge's stand. There was a surging, interested crowd around it. A presentiment of sudden misfortune came over him. Almost at the same moment the air was rent by joyous yells from hundreds of throats.
The crowd turned about, and with one accord made a rush for the betting-ring.