He was following the flying horses
through his racing glasses. "Quarter horse," he informed his
companion. "Beat the gate like a shot out of a gun. King Agrippa, the
favorite, second by two lengths. Sir Galahad third. At the quarter!
Panchito leads by half a length, Sir Galahad second. King Agrippa
third! At the half! Sir Galahad first, Panchito second, King Agrippa
third! At the three-quarter pole! King Agrippa first, Panchito
second, Polly P. third. Galahad's out of it. Polly P's making her
spurt, but she can't last. Into the stretch with Panchito on the rail
and coming like he'd been sent for and delayed. Oh, Lord, Jim, that's
a horse--and we thought he was a goat! Look at him come! He's an open
length in front of Agrippa and the _cholo_ hasn't used his willow
switch. Jim, we're sent to the cleaner's--"
It was a Mexican race-track, but the audience was American and it is
the habit of Americans to cheer a winner, regardless of how they have
bet their money. A great sigh went up from the big holiday crowd.
Then, "Panchito! Come on, you Panchito! Come on, Agrippa! Ride him,
boy, ride him!" A long, hoarse howl that carried with it the hint of
sobs.
At the paddock the gallant King Agrippa gave of the last and the best
that was in him and closed the gap in a dozen furious jumps until, as
the field swept past the grand-stand, Panchito and King Agrippa were
for a few seconds on such even terms that a sudden hush fell on the
race-mad crowd.
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