Heathcote, in his turn, kept well up to Dick, and had nothing to fear from the other man.
"Pretty race," said some one.
"Good action number two," replied another.
"Swinstead fancies him, and he knows what's what." "I should have said number three, myself." Two hundred yards were done, and scarcely an inch had the position of the three runners altered.
Then Swinstead called.
"Now then, young 'un." Dick knew the call was meant for him, and his spirit rose within him.
He "waited on his man," as they say, and before the next hundred yards were done he was abreast, with Heathcote close on the heels of both.
Frantic were the cries of the sportsmen to their man.

But his face was red, and his mouth was open.
"He's done!" was the cry of the disgusted knowing ones.

And the knowing ones were right.

Dick walked away, as fresh as a daisy, in the last hundred yards, while Heathcote blowing hard stepped up abreast of the favourite.

It was a close run for second honours; but the Mountjoy boy stuck to it, and staggered up a neck in front, with ten clear yards between him and the heels of the victorious Dick..