It was not so much fun as Freddie had at first thought to take a ride in this way.  At the beginning he had an idea that he might some day be a jockey and wear a gayly colored silk blouse.  But he never imagined race horses went so fast.

“Whoa!  Whoa!” cried Freddie again.  But his horse did not stop.  Indeed, it only went faster.

“Somebody get after that boy!” yelled the starter, leaning from the judges’ stand.  “He’ll be hurt if you don’t get him!”

“I’ll get him!” offered one of the jockeys.  He called to his horse and was soon speeding around the track after Freddie.  And now the horse on whose back the little Bobbsey boy was seated, hearing another steed coming after him, began to think it was a race in real earnest, and he commenced to go faster.  All the “whoa” shouts Freddie uttered were of no use.

“Go on, Tomato!  Go on!” cried the jockey to his horse.  “Go on, Tomato!” Tomato was the name of his animal.

The shouts and the screams of the crowd attracted the attention of Mr. Bobbsey and the other children as they came from the animal tent.  And as Mr. Bobbsey neared the race track he had a glimpse of his little son clinging to a horse and riding very fast, while a jockey on another horse chased him.

“Oh, look!  Freddie’s in a race!” cried Flossie!  “Oh, maybe Freddie will win!”

“My goodness! how did this happen?” cried Mr. Bobbsey.

“Will he be hurt?” gasped Nan.

But just then, to the great relief of the Bobbsey family, the jockey managed to come up alongside of Freddie’s galloping horse.  The jockey reached over with one hand, caught Freddie by the seat of his little trousers, and fairly lifted him off the back of the now excited horse.

Then, placing Freddie on the saddle in front of him, the jockey turned his horse about and rode slowly back to the stand.  Some of the stablemen then ran out and caught the other horse.

“Why, Freddie! what in the world were you trying to do?” asked his father, when the little boy was placed in his arms.

“I—­I just wanted a ride,” Freddie explained.  “I got tired of ridin’ on wooden lions.  I wanted a live horse.”

“Well, he picked a lively one all right!” laughed a man in the crowd.  “That horse he rode has won every race, so far.”

“You must never do such a thing again, Freddie,” his father told him, when the excitement had died down and the racing was once more started.  “Never again.”

“No, I won’t,” Freddie promised.  “But when I grow up I’m goin’ to ride horses, I am!”

“That will be a good while yet,” laughed Bert.

“I’m glad your mother wasn’t here,” said Mr. Bobbsey.  “She would have almost fainted, I’m sure, if she had seen you out on the race track like a regular jockey.”

“Did I look like a jockey?” Freddie asked, eagerly.

“Well, not exactly,” Bert said.  “You didn’t have any silk blouse on.”