"And now he's laying on the whip!" cried he. "Something like, eh! And now he gives his horse the spur! One lash, and it flies like the storm! What a horse! I'd give a million for it; and how the fellow sticks on! Well, Martin, it will be all up with your Whitsun Kingship immediately. Only a hundred paces more. 'Tis all over; he'll never be able to catch him up!"
And so, indeed, it proved. The stranger reached the goal a whole half-minute before Martin, and
was already standing there in front of the flag when he came up. Martin, however, as he came galloping in, quickly snatched the flag out of Mr. Varju's hand, and cried triumphantly to the youth—
"Don't suppose, little brother, that you have won; for the rule is that whoever seizes the banner first, he is the Whitsun King, and you see it is in my hand."
"Indeed!" said the youth, serenely; "I did not know that. I'll take care to remember that at the second race."
"Really, now," cried Martin. "You appear pretty cock-sure that you'll get in before me again. I tell you, you'll not. You only managed it this time because my horse got frightened and shied. But just you try a second time, and I'll show you who is the best man."
Meanwhile the other competitors had come up, and Martin hastened to explain how it was that the stranger had got in quicker than himself. He had a hundred good reasons for it at the very least.
The stranger allowed him to have his say in peace, and, full of good humour, returned to take his place again in the ranks of the competitors. His modest self-reliance and forbearance quite won for him the sympathy of the crowd, which was disgusted at the arrogance of Martin, and in the carriages of the gentry wagers began to be laid, and the betting was ten to one on the stranger winning all three races.
The mortars were again loaded, the youths were once more placed in a row, and at the third report the competing band again plunged forward. Now also the two rival horses drew away from the other competitors. In the middle of the course they were a length ahead of the foremost racers, and side by side urged their steeds strenuously towards
the goal. Almost to the very end of the course neither was able to outstrip the other; but when they were scarce fifty paces from the flag, the stranger suddenly gave a loud smack with his whip, whereupon his steed, responding to the stimulus, took a frantic bound forward, outstripping Martin's steed by a head, and this distance was maintained between them unaltered to the very end of the race, though the Whitsun King savagely laid about his foaming horse with his whip-handle. The stranger was at the banner before him, and so vigorously tore it out of the hand of Mr. Varju, that that gentleman fell prone from his horse.