The fat man stopped dead and stared, with his bulging eyes.

“Straight!” he cried, and smote his hands together.

The jockey cut at the dog with his whip, and then the police came up and hunted him back into the road.

At the moment the band struck up the National Anthem, and the Knowsley party, including the King, the American Ambassador, and Lord Milburn, crossed the Paddock swiftly toward Lord Derby’s box.

Suddenly the strains of the band were drowned by an immense roar of cheering.

Mocassin was being led into the Paddock.

Nothing could be seen of her.  Ikey’s Own had formed a close-linked phalanx about her.  No Englishman might penetrate that jealous barrier or help to form it.  Within its sacred circle the mare was being stripped and saddled.

Then there came another roar.

Chukkers was up in the star-spangled jacket.

The famous jockey sat above the heads of the crowd, and indulged in the little piece of swagger he always permitted himself.  Very deliberately he tied the riband of his cap over the peak while the eyes of thousands watched him.  As he did so the crowd about him stirred and parted.  A girl passed through.  It was the American Ambassador’s daughter.  She handed the jockey a tricolour cockade, which he fixed gallantly in front of his cap.  It was clear that he was in the best of humours, for he exchanged chaff with his admirers, adding a word to Jaggers as he gathered his reins.

Settling in the saddle, he squeezed the mare.

She reared a little as though to gratify the desire of those at the back for a peep at her.

As she left the Paddock and entered the course, the people rose to her en masse.  Storms of cheers greeted her and went bellowing round the course.  The Canal tossed them back to the Grand Stand, and the Embankment was white with waving handkerchiefs.

          Mocassin!  Mocassin!  Mocassin!

All eyes were on the mare, and the great brown horse, in the far corner of the Paddock, was stripped, and his jockey astride, before half a dozen people were aware of his presence.

By the time Jaggers and Ikey had observed him, he was on the move.

The two J’s, Monkey Brand and Joses, crossed toward him, but there was no getting near that tumultuous earth-shaker in brown.  Jim Silver was at his head, and, strong as the young man was, he had all his work cut out to hold the horse as he bounced across the Paddock, scattering his crowd with far-reaching heels.

“’Ware horse!” rose the cry.

“Give him room!”

“Look out for his heels!”

“Steady the beauty!”

Plunging across the Paddock, to the disturbance of everybody but the little jockey with the fair hair, who swung to his motions as a flower, fast in earth, swings to the wind, he tore out of the Paddock amid the jeers and laughter of some and the curses of others.