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Updated: May 12, 2025
For two fences the loose horse and the favourite rose side by side; and the watchers held their breath. Then the bay began to close in. Chukkers turned and screamed over his shoulder. Rushton on Jackaroo still two lengths in front looked round and saw he could do nothing. Little Boy Braithwaite, who had at last recovered his seat, came up like thunder on the quarters of the mare.
The mare, fresh as the old horse was failing, came along in front of the Grand Stand, clipping the grass with that swift, rhythmical stroke of hers and little fretful snatch at the reins, neat and swift and strong as a startled deer. Chukkers sat still and absorbed as a cat waiting over a mouse's hole. All eyes were on him. Nothing else was seen. His race was won.
The rougher elements amongst Ikey's Own sought a scape-goat. They found him in Joses. Chukkers came out of the weighing-room and deliberately struck the fat man. That started it: the crowd did the rest. Old Mat and Jim Silver waited on the outskirts of the hub-bub. The American Ambassador and his tall dark daughter stood near by. "What stories they tell," said the great man in his gentle way.
"'E could draw whip and draw blood, too," chuckled Monkey Brand. "But it weren't no manner o' good. Took up his whip and stopped his 'orse. Albert, 'e never stir. Sat there and goes cluck-cluck and got home on the post. Rode a pretty race, he did. Miss Boy was ever so please." "And what about Chukkers?" asked Jim. Monkey Brand sniggered. "He was foamin'-mad, bloody-yellin' all over the place.
"Thinks he knows something," muttered the little Levantine, his brown face thoughtful. "Kiddin' he do," grunted Chukkers, sucking his charm. Ikey looked after the retreating fat man. "He's collared Monkey Brand anyway," he said. "If Monkey ain't collared him," retorted the jockey.
As the two men took their places, the parade in front of the Grand Stand was in full swing. There was a big field: some thirty starters in all. The favourite, as the top weight, led them by at a walk. She was quite at her ease, yet on fire as always, snatching at her bit in characteristic style. Chukkers rode her with long and easy rein, as though to show he trusted her.
Indeed, it was clear that Chukkers was riding now as he had never ridden before. And the boy on the brown never moved. Three fences from home Chukkers rallied the mare and called on her for a final effort. Game to the last drop, she answered him. But the outsider held his own without an effort. Then the note of the thundering multitudes changed again with dramatic suddenness.
Chukkers was leaving the rails to swing for the Canal Turn. The Englishmen and bookies, their hands to their mouths, were screaming exhortations, warnings, advice, to the little fair jockey far away. "Canal Turn!" "Dirty Dago!" "The old game!" "Watch him, lad!" "His only chance!" "Riding for the bump!" Old Mat paid no heed. "Mouse bump a mountain," he grunted. "But Chukkers won't get the chance."
Anyone could see that by the likeness. You're the spit of each other, if I might make so bold. And I'm sure," said the orator, "speakin' on be'alf of all present, meself included, we feel honoured by the presence in our umble midst of the mother of the famous 'orseman Chukkers Childers." In the silence the speaker resumed his seat. The lady addressed was too busy to reply.
It seemed that Chukkers, who was riding Jackaroo for Ikey Aaronsohnn, had thought he was well through, and was sitting down to idle home, when two fences from the finish Albert Edward, riding an any-price outsider, came up on his right out of the blue and challenged the star-spangled jacket. Chukkers, who was on the favourite, with orders to win, had drawn his whip and ridden for his life.
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