The Rascal was in the best of tempers, he actually allowed Picton to stroke his face, pat his neck, and pay him sundry attentions; Rita gave him lumps of sugar, and said he was the dearest and best of Rascals.
"You will win the double," she said to Picton. "I am sure of it."
"And I'll try to win a far richer prize before long," he said, looking at her in a way that caused the red blood to mount to her cheeks.
Anstey ran again, but the main opposition was expected to come from Sandy, a Newton Abbot horse. Dick's horse had to give him a stone, which was a tall order, but Brent said he could do it, unless Sandy had improved out of all knowledge.
"I'd take The Rascal to the front this time," said Brent to Picton; "he's in a good temper and when that is the case he likes to make the pace, and he jumps freer."
"If he'll do it, I'll let him," said Picton. "Will he stay there? Remember he's giving lumps of weight away."
"He can do it," was the confident reply.
Six runners went out, a field above the average at Petitor.
Most people thought some of the runners would have been better out of it, they would only be in the way, a danger to the others at the fences; a blunderer is often a veritable death trap.
It astonished Leek, who was on Sandy, to see Picton take The Rascal to the front. He smiled as he thought, "He's making a mistake this time."