"Is he down?" he asked.
"No," she said. "He's got 'em beat."
"How do you know?"
"He's begun to ride," replied the girl briefly.
Old Mat was nibbling his pencil in the rear.
"How's it going, Boy?" he wheezed.
"All right," replied the girl. "He's through now."
The dirty green of the Woodburn colours topped the last fence; and Goosey Gander came lolloping down the straight, his jockey, head on shoulder, wary to the end, easing him home.
"That's a little bit o' better," said Old Mat comfortably, totting up his accounts.
"By Jove, he's a fine horseman!" cried the young man with boyish enthusiasm.
Boy Woodburn came leading the winner through the cheering crowd.
It was Old Mat's horse, Old Mat's race; and they had all got a bit on. They were pleased with themselves,