Regula Baddun's owner, waiting by the two bricks, gave one deep sigh of
relief, and cantered back to the stand. He had won, in lotteries and bets,
about fifteen thousand.
It was a broken-link Handicap with a vengeance. It broke nearly all the men
concerned, and nearly broke the heart of Shackles' owner.
He went down to interview Brunt. The boy lay, livid and gasping with fright,
where he had tumbled off. The sin of losing the race never seemed to strike
him. All he knew was that Whalley had "called" him, that the "call" was a
warning; and, were he cut in two for it, he would never get up again. His
nerve had gone altogether, and he only asked his master to give him a good
thrashing, and let him go. He was fit for nothing, he said. He got his
dismissal, and crept up to the paddock, white as chalk, with blue lips, his
knees giving way under him. People said nasty things in the paddock; but Brunt
never heeded. He changed into tweeds, took his stick and went down the road,
still shaking with fright, and muttering over and over again:--"God ha' mercy,
I'm done for!" To the best of my knowledge and belief he spoke the truth.
So now you know how the Broken-Link Handicap was run and won. Of course you
don't believe it.
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