Luke Nicholl was conscientious. He liked the trainer of Barellan, and since he had known Glen Leigh he had been on very friendly terms with him. Barellan's temporary lameness came as a blow to the jockey, as he might have had the mount on any horse in the race he could do the weight for.
Ivor Hadwin, however, had somewhat relieved his mind when he told him Barellan moved in his accustomed style, and he had but little fear about his lasting out the race.
"You'll ride him carefully," he said. "No need to tell you that. Nurse him until you are well in the straight; then let him come along as fast as you like. I got a clever man to bind his hoof. It's a bit brittle, and he'll run in bandages, but take my word for it, whatever beats him will win. I fear nothing, Luke."
This was reassuring and Nicholl looked like not only riding the Derby and Cup winners but also landing his first Melbourne Cup. For the leading jockey he had had bad luck in the race, having been placed half a dozen times. He could never quite get home. He hoped Barellan would accomplish that for him.
As he went into the paddock he encountered Glen Leigh.
"I hope you'll win," said Glen. "It means a lot to me, as you know. If Barellan gets home you shall have five hundred."
Luke thanked him, and said he'd do his best, telling him what Hadwin said.
"That sounds all right," returned Glen smiling, "let's hope he's hit the mark."
"You'd better have a bit on my mount in this race," said the jockey. It was the Railway Handicap, six furlongs, fifteen runners.
"What are you on?" asked Glen.