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Updated: May 18, 2025
"That's a little bit o' better. Four-Pound-the-Second, I suppose you'll call him." The Berserker Colt On the morning that Make-Way-There had done his gallop Old Mat had noted that a change was coming over Boy. She was ceasing to be a child, and was becoming a woman. He mentioned it to Ma. "Time she did," said the mother quietly. "She'll be seventeen in March."
The little jockey yielded the lead to Albert, and joined the group of watchers. The lads continued their patrol. "What's the going like on the top there, Brand?" asked the old man. "Not so bad, sir," the other answered. "Tidy drop o dew, I reck'n." Make-Way-There, now she had the lead, showed a tendency to swagger. She bounced and tossed.
"Right," answered Silver. "May I come along?" As he swung round, he saw the girl already jogging away. He pursued leisurely, anxious to talk about Make-Way-There, the Paris Meeting, and Chukkers and Monkey Brand's gossip. But she flitted away in front of him. As he drew up to her she broke into a canter, and the young man took a pull.
The brown horse had swept past them, going wide of the fences for the second time round. Make-Way-There, who had been dancing on his toes away on the left as he waited for his cue, chimed in as Four-Pound-the-Second came up alongside him. He settled down to his stride at once and took the lead. The brown horse, entirely undisturbed by this new rival, held on his mighty way.
Monkey Brand was left alone. "Took it 'ard!" muttered Old Mat, jerking his head. "He'll be all right," said Boy, glancing back. "Give him time to get his second wind." The little jockey went back to pick up a plate Make-Way-There had dropped. Joses strolled up to him with portentous brow. "Turned you down!" he said. "You're not horseman enough for them, it seems." The little man gathered himself.
Monkey Brand was before her, standing at the head of a now familiar chestnut pony, waiting, saddled, on the pillar-reins. "Is Mr. Silver down?" the girl asked, surprised. "Yes, Miss. Came late last night. Down for the week-end, I believe. He's goin' for a stretch before he looks at the 'orses," the little jockey informed her. "They're goin' to gallop Make-Way-There this morning."
"You've got some pretty good ones," she told him. "D'you think so?" keenly. She nodded. "Raw, but they'll come on. That's what you want." "Any up to National form?" he asked. "Make-Way-There might be good enough in a season or two if she'll stay," she said. "You can never tell. She's only four off." They began to breast the slope of the Mare's Back.
Last night two telegrams had come to Cuckmere: one was to Silver from Chukkers, and the other to Joses from Jaggers. They had been written at the same moment by the same man. And the one to Joses ran Make-Way-There to-morrow. Standing under the lee of the lighthouse, seeing while himself unseen, the tout kept his eyes to his glasses. Little escaped him.
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