You shall hold the stakes, Mrs.
Hunter. We have all confidence in you."
The slips were drawn.
"My horse is Bruce," Isobel said.
"There he is, Miss Hannay," Wilson, who had drawn a blank, said,
as a horse whose rider had a straw colored jacket and cap came
cantering along the course. "This is a race for country horses--
owners up. That means ridden by their owners. That is Pearson of
the 13th Native Cavalry. He brought the horse over from Lucknow."
"What chance has he?"
"I have not the least idea, Miss Hannay. I did not hear any betting
on this race at all."
"That is a nice horse, uncle," Isobel said, as one with a rider in
black jacket, with red cap, came past.
"That is Delhi. Yes, it has good action."
"That is mine," the eldest Miss Hunter said.
"The rider is a good looking young fellow," the Doctor said, "and
is perfectly conscious of it himself. Who is he, Wilson? I don't
know him."
"He is a civilian. Belongs to the public works, I think."
The other horses now came along, and after short preliminary canters
the start was made. To Isobel's disappointment her horse was never
in the race, which Delhi looked like winning until near the post,
when a rather common looking horse, which had been lying a short
distance behind him, came up with a rush and won by a length.
"I don't call that fair," Miss Hunter said, "when the other was first
all along. I call that a mean way of winning, don't you, father?"
"Well, no, my dear.
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