"
Shackles' owner said:--"You can arrange the race with regard to Shackles only.
So long as you don't bury him under weight-cloths, I don't mind. Regula
Baddun's owner said:--"I throw in my mare to fret Ousel. Six furlongs is
Regula's distance, and she will then lie down and die. So also will Ousel, for
his jockey doesn't understand a waiting race." Now, this was a lie, for Regula
had been in work for two months at Dehra, and her chances were good, always
supposing that Shackles broke a blood-vessel--OR BRUNT MOVED ON HIM.
The plunging in the lotteries was fine. They filled eight thousand rupee
lotteries on the Broken Link Handicap, and the account in the Pioneer said
that "favoritism was divided." In plain English, the various contingents were
wild on their respective horses; for the Handicappers had done their work
well. The Honorary Secretary shouted himself hoarse through the din; and the
smoke of the cheroots was like the smoke, and the rattling of the dice-boxes
like the rattle of small-arm fire.
Ten horses started--very level--and Regula Baddun's owner cantered out on his
back to a place inside the circle of the course, where two bricks had been
thrown. He faced towards the brick-mounds at the lower end of the course and
waited.
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