“I did,” replied the young man, with deep enthusiasm.  “Wonderful!  She didn’t gallop and jump; she flowed and she flew.”

“That’s it, sir,” agreed the other.  “Won all the way.  Only Chukkers must be a bit too clever o’ course, and let her down by the dirty.”

The old man pursed his lips and nodded confidentially.  “Only one thing.  My little Fo’-Pound’s the daddy o’ her.”  He sat down and began to draw on his elastic-sided boots with groans.

“Who’s going to ride him?” asked Silver.

“That’s where it is, sir,” panted the old man.  “Who is goin’ to ride him.  There’s Monkey Brand down on his knees to me for the mount; and he don’t go so bad with Monkey Brand—­when he’s that way inclined.  But I don’t know what to say.”  His efforts successfully ended, he lifted a round and crimson face.  “See where it is, Mr. Silver; Monkey Brand’s forty-five, and his ridin’ days are pretty nigh over.  He reckons he can just about win on Fo’-Pound and then retire.  That’s his notion.  And ye see it ain’t only that, but there’s Chukkers and the little bit o’ bitterness.  See it’s been goin’ on twenty year and it’s all square now.  Chukkers broke Monkey’s pelvis for him Boomerang’s year, and Monkey mixed up Chukkers’s inside Cannibal’s National.  And there it’s stood ever since.  And Monkey wants to get one up afore he takes off his jacket for good.”

Silver was looking into the fire.

“If Monkey Brand don’t ride, what’s the alternative?” he asked.

“Only one,” replied the trainer.  “Albert.  He’s a honest hoss is Fo’-Pound-the-Second, only that fussy as to who he has about him.  That’s the way with bottle-fed uns.  They gets spoiled and gives ’emselves airs.  Albert’s his lad, and Monkey’s been about him since he was a foal.  Sometimes he’ll work for one, and sometimes for the other; and sometimes he won’t for eether.  One thing certain, he won’t stir for no one else—­only her, o’ course.  No muckin’ about with her.  It’s just click! and away.”

“Pity she can’t ride,” said Silver.

“If she could ride I’d back him till all was blue,” replied the old man.  “No proposition in a hoss’s skin that ever come out of Yankee-doodle-land could see the way he’d go.”

“Who rode him at Lingfield?” asked Jim.

Just after Christmas Mat had put the young horse into a two-mile steeplechase to give him a gallop in public.

“Albert,” answered the old man.  “Rode him and rode him well.  It was just touch and go through.  Would he or wouldn’t he?  When he was monkeyin’ at the post I tell you I sweat, sir.  See he’d never faced the starter afore.  And I thought suppose he’s the sort that’ll do a good trial and chuck it when the money’s on.  He got well left at the post; but when he did get goin’ he ran a great horse.  It was heavy goin’, and he fair revelled in it.  ‘Reg’lar mudlark,’ the papers called him.  Half-way round he’d caught