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"So Chukkers has chucked you." "So I believe," answered Silver. "I wep' a tear when they tell me. I did reelly," said the old man, dabbing his eye. "He's goin' to ride Ikey's Jackaroo that donkey-coloured waler he brought home from Back o' Sunday. That's what he's after." Silver nodded. "I'm not altogether sorry," he said quietly. "And I'm not entirely surprised."
And their faith was based upon reality, since Chukkers for the first time in the history of the mare was using his whip. Once it fell, and again, in terrible earnest. There was a gasp from the gathered multitudes as they saw and understood. That swift, relentless hand was sounding the knell of doom to the hopes of thousands.
The stable-lads let him out on that old man for a lark. He's the spit of the old horse, only bigger." "He must be a big un then," said Jaggers. "He is," Chukkers answered. "And he's in at ten stun. The mare's givin' him a ton o' weight. And weight is weight at Liverpool." "She'll do it," said Jaggers confidently. "I'll back my Iroquois against their Berserk if Berserk he is."
Old Mat's face became quietly radiant. "Pretty, ain't it?" he said. "Like a bed o' toolups swaying in the wind. I wish Mar could see that. Worst o' principles, they cuts you off so much." He raised his glasses. "Where's Chukkers? Oh, I see. In the middle, and his buffer-hosses not too fur on eether side of him. That's lucky for Chukkers.
"She's better," said the jockey with the high cheek-bones. He passed his hand along the mare's rein. It was said that Chukkers had never cared for a horse in his life, and it was certain that many horses had hated Chukkers. But it was common knowledge that he was fonder of the mare than he had ever been of any living creature.
I was glad Mrs. Woodburn wasn't there to hear. Jaggers had him out on the mat afore 'em all. Said he'd been caught nappin' by a boy with a face like a girl, too. Putnam 'orse and all. That got ole Chukkers' tail up. He made trouble in the weighin'-room. Said Albert had done him a dirty dish; but you can't go to the Stewards on that.
They recognised the voice and the note of terror in it. Chukkers heard, too, turned, and had a glimpse of a green jacket surging up wide on his right. There was the sound of a soughing wind as the crowd drew its breath. What was this great owl-like enemy swooping up out of nowhere? Chukkers, his head on his shoulders, took the situation in. What he saw he didn't like.
Moreover, just at the one period of his career when it had seemed to the knowing that he might soar, the brilliant Chukkers, then but a lad, had crossed the Atlantic in the train of Ikey Aaronsohnn to aid the cosmopolitan banker to achieve the end which was to become his consuming life-passion; and in a brief while had eclipsed absolutely and forever all his professional rivals. Ally Sloper
Little Boy Braithwaite in the canary jacket had been unshipped, and was scrambling about on his horse's neck. He lay now a distance behind. Chukkers was signalling furiously with his elbow for the boy to come up on his right; and he had cause. For Kingfisher, the West-country horse, riderless and with trailing reins, was careering alongside him like a rudderless ship in full sail.
Chukkers, indeed, never varied the way he rode his races on the mare. In truth, part of his greatness as a jockey lay in the fact that he adapted his methods to his horse. Very early in his connection with Mocassin he had discovered the unfailing way to make the most of her. It was said of him that he always won his victories on her in the first half-mile.
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