Pioneer came sailing along past the stands and turned out an easy winner by three lengths, at which there was much jubilation among the three friends.
"I shall put my winnings on Barellan," said Bill.
"So shall I," said Jim.
"I'll keep mine in my pocket," said Glen.
"You've got a big stake going. By Jove, it will be a go if you win first prize in the sweep; you'll be a cut above us poor beggars then," Bill remarked.
"It won't make the slightest difference that way," replied Glen smiling.
"I know that, old man. I was only chaffing," laughed Bill. "I suppose if anyone accepts Gerard's challenge you'll ride, even if Barellan wins?"
"Certainly. I promised him," Glen answered.
"Let us go into the paddock, and have a look at some of the Cup horses," said Jim, and they walked along the lawn in that direction.
"That was a good tip; we all backed it," said Glen as Nicholl came up to them.
"He won easily," said the jockey smiling.
"Your luck's in," remarked Bill.
"I hope it will continue in the Cup," answered the jockey.
Barellan was being put to rights in the corner of the paddock and they went to see him.
Bellshaw was not there, so Hadwin had an opportunity of speaking to them. He assured Glen the horse would win if he had a good run in the race, which he was almost sure to have with such a jockey as Luke Nicholl in the saddle.
Barellan looked fresh and well. His coat shone like satin. He was trained to the hour, but the suspicious-looking bandages, and one hoof bound up with copper wire, causedmany people to pass him by in their search for the winner.
Luke Nicholl, wearing Bellshaw's sky blue jacket and red cap, was ready to mount when the time came. He felt confident. Hadwin had made an impression on him, inspired him with some of his enthusiasm. Nicholl was well off, Hadwin was not; the victory of Barellan meant the difference between debt and independence. The trainer was not a gambler. He seldom had more than five or ten pounds on, but he could not resist backing Barellan, at the long prices offered, when he was lame. He had three thousand to ninety about the horse, and backed him to win another thousand that morning. Glen had laid him five hundred out of the sweep money.
Perhaps Glen Leigh was one of the most anxious men on the course, but there was no sign that he was unduly excited. He laughed and joked as usual and appeared quite calm outwardly.
The chance of winning a fortune of nearly twenty-five thousand pounds for the investmentof a sovereign does not come to many men in a lifetime. This was what Glen stood to win, and he conjured up his future prospects if it came off. He thought of Mrs. Prevost and Clara; the former he knew loved him; at least he was very much mistaken if she did not, and he knew he loved her. If Barellan won he would go to her and ask her to be his wife, and she would not refuse. He cared nothing about her connection with Bellshaw. He would never ask her about it. He knew the man, and pitied any woman who got into his clutches. As he stood looking at Barellan he thought what the horse's victory meant to him, and naturally he became more anxious as the time of the race drew near. He saw Bellshaw coming and would have avoided him had it been possible.
The squatter scowled at him, then asked, "Have you changed your mind? Will you give me a cent out of the sweep?"
"No," replied Glen as he walked away.
Bellshaw sent a curse after him, then turned to the jockey.
"If you can't win it doesn't matter about riding him out for a place," he said. "There's no sweep money attached to it."
Nicholl made no reply.
"Do you hear what I say?" snapped Bellshaw.
"I heard; I shall have to ride him out."
"You'll do as I tell you."
"I shall ride Barellan out," said Nicholl firmly.
"Against my orders?"
"If those are your orders, yes. I am not going to run any risks."
"What risk would you run?"
"I might be called up before the stewards to explain, and I'm not going to risk that for you or anyone else."
"You hear what he says," Bellshaw said to the trainer.
"He'll have to ride him out. There's no help for it. Besides, there's big money for the places," answered Hadwin.
"I don't want place money if he can't win. I want to keep that fellow Leigh from winningif Barellan can't come in first," said Bellshaw.
"I thought so," said Nicholl.
Bellshaw did not stay to see his horse leave the paddock. He went back into the ring. He was in a vile temper, which his trainer's confidence in Barellan did not soothe. Leigh had got the better of him. He knew it was no empty threat when Glen said he would be put on his trial for manslaughter if evidence were given incriminating him. He hated Glen Leigh. His animosity was so great he would have scratched Barellan had he dared. He intended paying him out. The best way to wound him would be through Mrs. Prevost. He cared nothing for her sufferings, even after all she had been to him. He was a man without feelings.
He was not quite sure whether Leigh would keep his promise if Barellan won. There was Lin Soo. What did Leigh know about him? The paper found under his bedroom door at Mintaro had warned him, and Leigh mentioned it again in the hotel. He must see Lin Sooon his return to Sydney, but first of all he would go to Mrs. Prevost's again and inform her he had enlightened Glen Leigh as to her past life, would gloat over her distress, make fun of her, then offer to be on friendly terms with her again. He had no doubt she would accept.
He stood alone in the ring listening to the calling of the odds. Roland was a firm favourite. Isaac, Painter, Out Back, Adelaide, The Gong, Rosehill, Canterbury, Crocker, Thane, The Rival, Jack, and Mackay, were all well backed, some at long odds, and rank outsiders at a hundred to one each.
The name of Barellan was seldom called by the bookmakers. Bellshaw wondered why? Had they laid his horse heavily before he met with his accident?
He went to Gerard and asked the price of his horse.
"Full against him," replied Nick.
"You mean you won't lay him," said Bellshaw.
"Take it as you like."
"Do you expect him to run well?" asked Bellshaw.
"I expect him to win," answered the bookmaker. "I hope he does for Leigh's sake."
Bellshaw made some remark about Leigh being a bad lot.
"He's a straight goer. It's a pity there are not more like him," said Nick.
"Perhaps it is. Even if he wins the sweep he'll soon lose it. Probably you'll get most of it, or some of your fraternity," retorted Bellshaw.
"You don't know the man. If he wins he'll stick to it, take my word for it," said Nick.
Barellan's price was a hundred to eight, and no longer odds were obtainable about him. This was not tempting enough for Bellshaw, so he made no further investment.
Jack was knocked out to a hundred to one for some reason or other. His trainer did not understand it as he thought the horse had a fair outside chance.
Glen Leigh was missing. Bill and Jim could not find him.
"He's best alone until after the race,"said Bill. "He must feel a bit queer about it; I should."
"So should I," agreed Jim. "Fancy standing to win all those thousands for a sovereign; it makes a fellow's mouth water."
"He'll do something for you if he wins the first prize," said Bill.
"He's not mentioned it."
"No, it's not his way, but he will, depend upon it; I shouldn't wonder if he gives you his share in the show."
Jim thought of Clara and what he would do if such a stroke of luck came his way. Glen Leigh had gone on to the top of the stand close to the press-box, where he would have a good view of the race. He wished to be alone. His feelings almost overcame him. He saw Jerry and Tom Roslyn in front of the press-box, and was glad they had not noticed him.
There was a dull roaring sound all over the course, the voices of thousands of people talking before the race, mingled with theshouts of the bookmakers. A sea of faces met Glen's gaze as he looked across the course. Far away, on the other side of the canal, people were camped on the slopes, waiting for the big field to come out. At the back of him, on the hill, there was a dense crowd reaching down to the top of the stand; he turned round and looked at the surging mass. To his right, below, was the ring, and paddock; he saw a mass of heads on Tattersalls' stand, and just caught a glimpse of a colour or two in the paddock. On the lawn people were still strolling about in groups. The race, most of it, could be seen from the terrace and the slopes. Presently, when the horses came round the bend for home there would be a rush to get on the rails. Still further to the left was another stand, on which there was plenty of room. Late lunchers were still under the vines, but were now making a move towards the terrace and stands. A long streak of bright green, the course, stretched out between the crowds. A solitary horseman cantered down. It was the starter going to the post; then theclerk of the course came along, on an old chaser, and went after him. Already there were one or two in the stewards' stand. Near the weighing room diminutive men were going about; they were the jockeys weighed out for the race. It was an animated glittering scene; many-hued costumes, the brightest of colours, the daintiest of designs, artistic creations, the labour of clever women and clever men, and hats and sunshades almost too dazzling to feast the eyes upon, as the glorious sun poured his rays down from the cloudless sky. It was an ideal day. A faint breeze, tinged with sea air from the bay far away, cooled hot cheeks, and blew delicately through thin blouses and skirts. Men moved about in all sorts of headgear; but there were no regulation top-hats, although in the Governor's Box "a bit of Ascot" was seen. It was Glen Leigh's first Melbourne Cup, and the sight at Flemington entranced him, threw a glamour over him, and he looked at it all and fancied himself alone, even in the vast crowd. And he had drawn Barellan in the big sweep. Would the horse win? Would No. 33444 be thesuccessful ticket? He had it in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it, thinking how wonderful it was that if Barellan won he could cash it for nearly twenty-five thousand pounds.
Glen's thoughts wandered. The heat and excitement made him drowsy. For a few minutes he dozed, and as he did so his mind went back to the days when he was a keeper of the fence, on the border line between New South Wales and Queensland. Surrounded by thousands on Flemington course he slumbered peacefully, as men will when overcome with some powerful feeling, that acts like a drug, and for a few minutes there is oblivion.
His thoughts wandered far away. He was back once more on the glittering wire fence, with Ping, and Spotty, waiting there in the blazing heat for his mate to meet him and compare notes. There had been no rain for months; everything was parched, and dried up. He saw thousands of dead rabbits, and sheep. The stench seemed to be in his nostrils. Thescene changed. He was looking in at his hut and saw the woman on the bed. In a few seconds he went through the struggle for a life again, the ride to Boonara, the tussle for brandy with Bill Bigs, Jim's arrival, and keeping watch, Spotty's attack; then the convalescence and the journey to Sydney. His meeting with Mrs. Prevost, Bellshaw at Mintaro, the search and capture of buckjumpers, Lin Soo, The Savage, the show, were all jumbled up together when he came out of his temporary swoon with a start, rubbed his eyes, and stared round him at the bustling scene, hardly daring to believe he was not back in reality on the fence. He gave a sigh of relief, and was wide awake again. He could not have been asleep for more than five minutes, and he had gone through the experiences of half a lifetime. It was strange. He had not quite shaken it off when the horses came out of the paddock on to the track, and the sight caused the past to vanish.
All eyes were turned on them as they cantered down the course to the starting post. There were thirty-one runners; it was a big field, and half of them were considered to have chances.
Jack, knocked out to a hundred to one, was first out, his jockey wearing a green jacket, yellow belt and cap; then came half a dozen more in a cluster. Isaac, the Derby winner, passed, going in great style. A tremendous cheer greeted Roland, the favourite. His owner's black jacket, white sleeves, and red cap were popular; the colours were always out to win. Painter, Plume, and Out Back followed, then Glen saw the sky-blue jacket and red cap, and his heart beat rapidly. Barellan went slowly at first, then burst into a gallop, pulling hard, reaching for his head, but Nicholl would not let him go. Glen watched him through his glasses, until he reached the post, thinking how much depended upon him. Barellan was carrying his fortunes. If he won what a change there would be in his life. If Jerry had not suggested his buying a ticket probably the opportunity would have gone by. Certainly he must be remembered if Barellan won. Had he not bought the ticket, and, with it, luck?
He looked round. All faces, thousands ofthem, were turned in one direction, watching the horses at the post, waiting for the signal when they would be dispatched on their journey. There was not much delay; they were well-trained. The starter had the jockeys under control. He was an autocrat, his powers great. It went ill with those who disobeyed him.
They were off; a terrific shout proclaimed it. The race for the great stake had commenced. What Glen Leigh felt at that moment he hardly knew. He had a hazy idea something was going to happen that would dash all his hopes. He shook off the feeling and determined to take a hopeful view of the situation.
Jack was making the pace. He had a light weight. His jockey was told to go ahead and wear the field down; the little fellow was nothing loth to do so; for one thing, he would be out of harm's way, and be in no danger of getting shut in. Jack was a dull grey horse, not a brilliant performer by any means, although on one or two occasions he had shown a turn of speed. There could be nodoubt he was on his best behaviour, for, as they passed the stand, he was half a dozen lengths ahead of his field. Glen looked at each horse as they swept past; there was Barellan in the middle division, on the rails, going at an even pace; Roland, the favourite, was just in front of him. Close behind came Isaac, and Mackay; he was in good company.
Round the bend they swept, a cheer greeting them from Tattersalls' stand. Jack spread out, increasing his lead as they entered the back stretch. Half-way along the field closed up. There was not a long tail. It was a pretty sight, thirty-one bright colours showing up, glinting in the sunlight. The sheds were reached when racing began in earnest, for no laggards here had any chance of success.
Glen's glasses were levelled on the sky-blue jacket. He wondered when Nicholl would make a forward move. He became anxious. Was he lying too far back? Ought he not to be nearer the front? Why did he let Jack get so far ahead? These and sundry other questions jostled each other in Glen's mind.
Bill Bigs, and Jim, were standing together on the terrace. They had a fair view of the race.
"Jack's got a lead on them," said Bill.
"He'll give way before long," replied Jim.
"Don't you be too sure, young man," said someone behind him. "I've seen Jack do a good couple of miles several times lately."
"You don't think he'll win?" asked Bill.
"I won't go so far as that, but I reckon he'll put up a good fight," answered the stranger: then asked, "What have you backed?"
"Barellan," said Bill.
"A friend of mine's on him. He fancies him a lot. Knows his owner, I believe."
"So do I. He's not much to know," remarked Bill.
The stranger laughed.
"He is rather unpopular," he said.
"Look!" cried Jim. "Barellan and the favourite are going up."
Glen Leigh saw the move on Nicholl's part. His heart was in his mouth. The jockey hadjust squeezed Barellan through on the rails and the favourite had to go on the outside. As they neared the home turn the crowd shouted. The names of half a dozen horses rang out clearly over the course.
Jack was first into the straight. He had made all the running and was still going strong. Glen wondered if they would get on terms with him.
Isaac, finding an opening, dashed through. The Derby winner was bound to be thereabouts. He had run well and was coming out at the right time; his rider's pink jacket and white cap showed conspicuously.
Mackay's jockey pushed his mount and ran into third place, behind Jack and Isaac. They were all in the straight now, thirty-one runners, and the centre lot, numbering about a score, were all of a heap. The jackets looked bunched together, a many-hued mass of colour.
Barellan lost his position on the rails as they rounded the bend. He was not forced out but ran wide. Nicholl, taken by surprise at this move, thought it must be his leg painedhim, and he wanted more room. He grew anxious. There was a slight faltering on Barellan's part. He must be nursed carefully or he might break down, and nursing at this critical point, when every horse with a chance was making a run, spelt defeat, being left behind. As it was Barellan fell back when he ought to have come into the front rank.
Glen Leigh's hand shook as he held his glasses. The sky-blue jacket was right away at the end of the middle division. Barellan's chance looked forlorn. His hopes were shattered; the thousands vanished into thin air; it was what he might have expected. How could he win with only a sovereign invested? It was absurd on the face of it. He was foolish to buoy himself with false hopes. He had raised a mirage in which he saw happiness and full content. Now it vanished and would never appear again.
"It is all up," he muttered. "I was a fool to think I could win such a sum."
"Hang it all, where's that beastly blue jacket got to?" said Bill.
"Right away back," returned Jim. "We're done. I'm sorry for Glen."
It was with mingled feelings Bellshaw saw Barellan fall back; he wanted to win a Melbourne Cup, at the same time he wished Leigh to lose his sweep money. He hardly knew which feeling was the stronger. If Barellan were beaten he would have the satisfaction of knowing Leigh had been done out of thousands and there was a chance that he, Bellshaw, might win the Cup another time.
Ivor Hadwin guessed why Barellan ran wide and lost his place at the bend. It was the strain on his bound foot which caused it; he ran out to ease it. Would he regain his position? He doubted it, but knew the horse was one of the gamest, and at the end of two miles he went as fast as the average horse at the end of half the distance, so he hoped for the best as he fixed his glasses on the sky-blue jacket.
Jack shot his bolt. He had done well, and was not disgraced, but the pace and the distance proved too much for him. Isaac took his place, the Derby winner comingalong in great style. His numerous admirers and supporters were on good terms with themselves. Roland came with a rattle and ran into third place behind Isaac and Out Back, who made a terrific run from the bend. A large field of horses in the straight, at the finishing struggle for a Melbourne Cup, is one of the most exciting scenes in the racing world; it rouses the lethargic to some sort of enthusiasm, and a lover of the great game almost goes frantic over it. From the moment the horses race in desperate earnest, when the bend is cleared, the pent-up excitement continues until the winning post is passed.
Glen Leigh, with a matter of twenty-five thousand at issue, looked on wonderingly; even the melancholy fact that Barellan was so far back did not obliterate from view the grand sight he witnessed. As he looked at the various horses, one by one, from Isaac in the lead, his rider's pink jacket and white cap standing out alone, he gave a gasp of surprise. What caused it?
"Look at Barellan!" yelled a man standing near him.
Glen looked, his eyes glued on the sky-blue jacket. It was this which had caused the gasp of surprise. Barellan was going great guns, and passing horse after horse in a remarkable manner. His name was shouted over the course, far and wide.
"Barellan, Barellan!"
What looked like a hopeless position was turned into a promising situation as Barellan came up the course at a tremendous pace. It was a thrilling sight, watching the sky-blue jacket forging ahead, and Glen Leigh's pulses beat rapidly. His body quivered as it had never done before as he watched Barellan galloping the field to a standstill. The shouting was tremendous. The noise deafening. Barellan's name echoed over the course. Smack, on Roland, cast a hasty glance back and caught sight of the blue on the outside. Barellan had "dropped from the clouds." It was now or never. If he caught Isaac he might win. He raised his whip, shaking it at the favourite. The gallant Caulfield Cup winner responded gamely and was soon at the Derby winner's quarters. In another momenthe crept up, drawing level, and there was a rare set-to for the advantage.
Nicholl watched the leading pair. A smile flickered across his face. They were playing into his hands, wearing each other down. The struggle must tell, and there was still a furlong to go. Almost level with Barellan were Rosehill and Out Back, the last named still going well. When Barellan forged ahead and left them there was a terrific yell. Glen Leigh dropped his glasses in his excitement. A man picked them up, handing them to him, saying with a smile, "I expect you're on Barellan."
"I drew him in the sweep," said Glen.
The man stared at him, then said, "And you stand a good chance of winning. Lucky fellow, you are."
The chase commenced. Three to four lengths in front were Isaac and Roland. The form was coming out well. If Barellan beat the Derby and Caulfield Cup winners he would indeed be a great horse. When he lost his place, and fell back soon after rounding the bend, there were at least a dozen lengths to make up. It seemedimpossible it could be done. Nicholl rode with splendid judgment, nursing his mount carefully, easing him as far as he dare, but he could not afford to lose more ground. Then came the sudden spurt on the horse's part, without being forced. It was a spontaneous effort, without pressure, and Nicholl's hopes rose rapidly. His winning prospects increased with every stride.
Pandemonium reigned on the course. This was to be a most exciting finish. If Barellan kept up his run to the finish there was no telling what might happen.
Isaac was on the rails, Roland level with him, the pair racing in grim earnest, fighting as only the best thoroughbreds can; no giving way, no acknowledging defeat, a battle of giants, stern, determined, the jockeys helping their mounts with all the skill and experience at their command.
Barellan, and Out Back, were having a tussle behind the leading pair. The spectators, roused to a boiling pitch of excitement, watched first the leaders, then the others, and wondered if the latter pair would get up.
It was a breathless scene, full of strange emotion, bringing out all the pent-up enthusiasm that nothing can rouse like a great race. People watched with bated breath; hands shook, hearts palpitated, eyes blinked, faces twitched, nerves twinged, pulses beat rapidly. In all those thousands no one appeared to stand quite still. There were movements everywhere; it was impossible to restrain them.
Glen Leigh's mind was in a whirl.
Twenty-five thousand pounds at stake, a fortune on Barellan and the horse was only a few lengths from the winning post. He guessed how many, twenty, thirty, more, less, which was it? What did it matter, if only he won at the finish!
"He'll win, he'll win, he'll win," seemed to be the refrain in Glen's ears as he now and then caught a dull sound of hoofs when there were brief lulls in the shouting.
"Go on, Luke," he yelled. "Go on. You'll catch 'em."
He could not restrain his feelings. He must shout or something would happen. The strainwas too great. There might be a snap, and then collapse.
Glen Leigh was a strong man, hard and fit, but the perspiration stood on his forehead like beads, then gradually trickled down his face. He did not feel it. Even when the drops wet his eyes he took no notice. He glared at the sky-blue jacket through a mist which soon passed, although for the moment it dimmed his vision. He put down the glasses. He could see without them. The horses were not far off. He bent forward, swayed a little. The man who had spoken to him thought he was about to fall and caught him by the arm. He remembered a policeman, who had drawn the winner, falling down dead on the lawn as the horses passed the post.
Glen felt the friendly pressure, and said in a thick voice, "Thanks. I'm all right."
Roar after roar came from the surging crowd as Roland, the favourite, got his head in front of Isaac.
The shouts of triumph rang in the air,heralding the victory of the favourite, and when this happens in a Melbourne Cup the scene baffles description. Who that saw it will ever forget the wonderful victory of Carbine when he carried top weight, started favourite, and beat Forester's Highborn, and Correze, both outsiders, easily? It was a sight seen only once in a lifetime. It equalled Persimmon's Derby, if it did not surpass it, and "Old Jack" took it all quietly, for, as he passed the winning post, he stopped, turned round, and made for the weighing enclosure without any assistance from Ramage, his pilot. This race was more exciting than Carbine's Cup even, for there were four horses in it, all with chances, and close on the winning post.
"Even hundred nobody names it," yelled a bookmaker in the ring. It was a safe offer, for nobody could name it except by a lucky guess.
Roland was a neck in front of Isaac, Out Back and Barellan were on their quarters.
An electric current seemed to shoot through the living mass of human beings and galvanisethem into life; such a shout rent the air as had not been heard at Flemington before. There had been desperate finishes between two horses, but here were four putting up one of the greatest battles ever seen.
Glen Leigh shook with excitement. Small wonder at it, for the sky-blue jacket had passed Out Back, and drawn almost level with Isaac.
"I'm sure of the place money," thought Glen with a sigh of relief.
Sure of the place money! In another second Barellan looked all over a winner. Roland, hard ridden, held his own. Isaac was only half a length off, the three together, with Out Back on the Derby winner's quarters. What a fight, and what a great compliment to the handicapper, for behind the leading four came a cluster of six, not two lengths away.
Bill Bigs and Jim were well nigh frantic. Their hats were off. They yelled, "Barellan," until they were hoarse.
Ivor Hadwin turned pale. The strain was almost more than he could bear. If, if only Barellan got his head in front as they passed the judge's box.
"He will. He'll win," almost shouted the trainer, who had to give way under the pressure. His shouts acted like a safety valve.
Barellan was head and head with Isaac, Roland half a length to the good, and the winning post a few yards away.
Luke Nicholl, for the first time, raised his whip. He was on the outside and his right arm was free.
One cut, another, a third, not too sharp, just sufficient to sting, to give Barellan a reminder.
The effect was astounding. Barellan, acting under the unexpected, went forward with a final rush. His speed was so great that he caught up to the favourite in two strides; his head shot out, his nostrils red and wide, his eyes glared, his nose, then half a head, was in front; a fraction of a second's suspense, then he claimed a head advantage, then half a neck, a neck, and when this was realised the stands seemed to shake with the deafening noise. It was marvellous. Rounding the bend Barellan had fallen back a dozen lengths. His case seemed hopeless. He had made up all thelost ground in the straight, and now he had his neck in front of all the runners.
Roland made a desperate effort, reducing the distance to half a neck again. Isaac drew up, so did Out Back. The four horses were all together.
Glen Leigh looked, and looked. He had a dim vision of blue, pink, black, white, red, orange, mixed together. Was the blue in front? He thought so. How he hoped no one else knew.
At last the struggle was at an end. The horses passed the post, four of them with not a length between them. An anxious pause; thousands of people could not tell which had won, the numbers were not up. The judge seemed a long time hoisting them, but up they went at last. He placed Barellan first, Roland second, a neck away, Isaac and Out Back, half a length away, dead heat for third place.
What a finish!
It was over. Barellan had won, and Glen Leigh was the fortunate holder of his number in the sweep. He had come into a fortune at one stroke. He elbowed his way through the crowd hardly knowing what he was doing, and went in search of his friends. It was not easy to find them in the great crowd streaming towards Tattersalls and the paddock. As he pushed through the ring he saw people gathering round bookmakers. Barellan must have been well backed; hundreds were drawing money. He saw nothing of Bill and Jim. He would go into the paddock. They might be there, thinking he had gone to look at the winner.
Nicholl had weighed in and was standing talking to the trainer as Glen appeared on the scene. They greeted him heartily, shaking his hand, congratulating him on his good fortune.
"There's five hundred each for you," said Glen.
They thanked him; it was a generous gift.
"I never felt so queer in my life as I did when Barellan fell back just after rounding the bend," declared Glen. "What happened?"
"I thought he was going to crack up," answered the jockey. "It must have been his foot. I fancy he wanted to ease it as he came round the bend; it probably pinched him."
"That's it," said Hadwin. "There's no doubt about it. What a run he made up the straight. I never saw anything like it."
While they were talking Bellshaw came up, scowling. He did not look like the owner of the Cup winner.
"You see I was right," said Hadwin. "He won a great race."
"Which Nicholl nearly threw away," retorted Bellshaw.
"You're mistaken," said the jockey. "If Barellan hadn't been one of the gamest horses that ever looked through a bridle he would never have got up and won."
"You ran him out wide at the bend when you had a good position on the rails," said Bellshaw.
Nicholl explained, but the squatter was in no mood to listen to reason. He had won the Melbourne Cup, but Glen Leigh had won first prize in the sweep, and this made him rage. By all the rights of ownership he ought at least to have five thousand laid him if his horse won. When he thought how Leigh threatened him with exposure, he could have killed him without compunction. There was no more dissatisfied man on the course than the owner of the Cup winner. He had no pleasure in the victory. The cheering he knew was not for him but for the horse and jockey.
Glen Leigh walked away to avoid him. He saw the man was in no mood to be crossed and was almost beside himself with ill-feeling and disappointment. It was not, however, Bellshaw's intention that Glen should escape him. He wished to quarrel with somebody, and Leigh scented his purpose. He walked after him and said, loud enough for those standing near to hear, "You've won thesweep money by the aid of my horse. Are you man enough to give me something out of it?"
Glen guessed by the way he spoke he meant mischief. There was menace in his voice. He stopped, faced him, and answered, "I'm man enough to refuse to give you a penny out of it."
Bellshaw swore, then stepping up to him said savagely, "I suppose you'll try and get Rosa Prevost—buy her with the money you've won? You'll not succeed. I'll outbid you. She's fond of money, besides she's been my woman for several years. Perhaps you don't know that. I never intended marrying her. She knew it, and was quite contented with my terms. She will be so again. You stand no chance. I can easily convince her she will be better off with me."
His insulting words made Glen Leigh's blood boil.
"Be careful what you say or it will be the worse for you," he said.
Bellshaw laughed.
"Can't you find another woman? Are you tied down to marry my mistress?"
By way of reply Glen Leigh raised his right arm, clenched his fist, struck Bellshaw full in the mouth and knocked him down.
Ivor Hadwin, Bill Bigs and Jim Benny saw what happened; they hurried through the crowd and gathered round them. "Get out of this, Glen," said Bill, "or there'll be ructions."
Hadwin pulled Bellshaw away as he struggled to his feet.
"You can't fight here. They'll hustle you on the course if you do. A nice thing to happen to the owner of the Cup winner."
Bill caught Glen by the arm, dragging him along. Bellshaw seemed in no hurry to return the blow. He let the trainer lead him away. His mouth was bleeding, his lip cut. The blow was severe; Glen had hard hitting powers.
Bellshaw turned his attention to his trainer, calling him names, abusing him generally, then suddenly turned sullen and walked away. Soon after he left the course and went to his hotel.
He sat down and wrote a letter to Nick Gerard saying he would accept his wager oftwo thousand pounds to find a horse Glen Leigh could not ride for a quarter of an hour. The match must take place in Sydney the following week, the Saturday night, and there must be no other acceptors of the offer. He returned to Sydney by the mail train that night, and on arriving there journeyed to Mintaro.
Glen Leigh received his cheque for the sweep money by the end of the week. It amounted to twenty-four thousand, six hundred pounds. He knew now what it was to possess money. He paid Luke Nicholl and Ivor Hadwin five hundred each, and gave handsome gifts to Bill and Jim and to Jerry Makeshift.
Nick Gerard showed Glen Bellshaw's letter, accepting his challenge, and asked him what he thought about it.
"I'll ride anything he cares to put into the ring," replied Glen. "He's got some horses at Mintaro that are terrible savages, almost mad, but I'll try and win your money, Nick. I'd like to beat him."
"Very well, then I'll accept his offer andwithdraw the notice. He'll find you enough to do, I expect," said Nick smiling.
"He will, you can depend upon that. He's pretty certain he can find something that will throw me, or he'd not have accepted," answered Glen.
"And will Saturday next week suit you?"
"Yes, the show goes back to Sydney on Monday."
"Capital; there'll be an exciting struggle. I suppose there's no doubt Bellshaw will play fair?"
"I don't see how he can help it. He'll pick out a nasty brute for me to ride, but that's part of the game," said Glen.
On all sides Glen was congratulated on winning first prize in the sweep. He was inundated with letters from all sorts of people, anxious to negotiate loans for the most part, others who wished to recommend safe investments. Land agents offered him ideal residences, owners of horses placed prices on their animals for him; charities solicited him, women wrote saying they were quite willing to consider him as a husband if he wanted a wife.
Glen laughed at them all. He placed his money in the bank and went on his way contented.
When Bellshaw arrived at Mintaro unexpectedly he explained what he wanted—the worst horse that could be found, a savage, quite ready to kill and tear a man to pieces.
His new overseer, Sam Wimpole, he had appointed when Garry Backham left; he was a man of his master's stamp, cruel, unscrupulous. Already the hands hated him; more than one had threatened to do for him.
Bellshaw explained what he wanted, then added, "If you can find me a horse that will throw him I'll give you a hundred pounds. I want to win the wager. I want to see him injured for life, or better still, killed outright. Do you understand?"
Wimpole grinned. He understood. He knew the sort of horse. There was one at Five Rocks, ten times worse than The Savage. It would be risky catching him and taking him to Sydney, but once there he'd bet any money Leigh couldn't sit on him five minutes. It wasmore than likely the brute would kill him. It was a big powerful brown stallion, as big as old Tear'em, and worse tempered. He should say he was seven or eight years old and had never been handled.
"The beast chased me five or six miles," he said. "If he'd caught me I shouldn't be here to tell you about him."
This news put Bellshaw in a better humour. The idea of maiming Glen Leigh was just to his mind. He ordered Wimpole to yard the horse no matter at what danger, or risk, and to take him to Bourke and from there to Sydney.
Next day Wimpole, taking the bulk of the hands with him, managed, after much trouble, to yard the horse, among others, lasso him, and throw him down, keeping him bound until he was exhausted with his struggles. On the way to Mintaro the horse savaged two men, lamed three horses, and had a tussle with Wimpole which almost caused the overseer to wish he'd not told Bellshaw anything about him.
When the owner of Mintaro saw the greatpowerful, unbroken, fiery stallion, and heard of the damage he had already done, he was satisfied. He had no doubt he would win the wager, and that Glen Leigh would probably be seriously injured.
"It's worth a hundred to take him to Bourke," said Wimpole.
"You shall have it when he's trained," returned Bellshaw. "You must go in the same train with me."
"I'd best take a couple more hands with me," said Wimpole. "He's more than a match for me."
To this Bellshaw assented. All he thought about was injuring Leigh.
It was an awful experience taking the horse to Bourke, but after a lot of cruel treatment, which cowed him for a time, they succeeded. He was put in an ordinary cattle truck and securely lashed back and front; a band was also thrown round him and fastened to each side. Twice he broke the stout ropes, but finally he was tied securely.
Bellshaw watched the operation with evidentpleasure. He was thinking what was in store for Glen Leigh. It made him smile grimly.
The station master asked Bellshaw what he was going to do with the horse if he got him safely to his destination.
Bellshaw explained about the wager, and who was to ride the horse.
The station master made an ordinary remark, but when the train started he muttered, as he looked after it, "Leigh'll be killed if he attempts to ride that brute."
There was some earnest conversation between Bellshaw and his overseer on the way to Sydney.
"You'll do it," said Bellshaw. "Promise me you'll do it, and I'll give you fifty pounds down."
"I'll manage it," said Wimpole.
"I shall be with the horse all the time, until he mounts, to see they don't tamper with him," he added with a wink.
Bellshaw laughed. They had hatched a wicked plot against Glen Leigh, and Wimpole was to carry it out.
"There'll be trouble if it's discovered," said Wimpole.
"You're not going to back down?"
"No, only if there's any danger of its being found out I shall bolt, and it will take moremoney than you offer to get me out of the country in comfort."
"How much do you want?" asked Bellshaw.
"I must have five hundred planked down before I do it," replied Wimpole.
"Too much," said Bellshaw, but after an angry altercation agreed to Wimpole's terms.
"The risk's great. It will be a case of manslaughter right enough if anything happens to Leigh, and it's discovered."
The announcement in huge placards and newspaper advertisements that Glen Leigh was to ride an unbroken stallion from Mintaro for a quarter of an hour, for a wager of two thousand a side, between Craig Bellshaw and Nicholas Gerard, roused curiosity to its highest pitch, and there was a prospect of an enormous attendance. Glen Leigh was confident Bellshaw would be unable to find a horse that could unseat him. Bill Bigs did not like the look of things; he thought of foul play. He did not trust Bellshaw. He knew the squatter would give a good round sum to injure Leigh.
Glen had been to Manley and seen Mrs.Prevost; he asked her to be his wife, and she consented. When she alluded to the past he said it was buried; he had no wish to unearth it. Clara Benny, as she was still called, looked much better since she had been with Mrs. Prevost. There was no doubt her health would be completely restored, but whether this meant the recovery of her lost memory was uncertain. Mrs. Prevost tried to persuade Glen not to ride in the match. She was sure he would be injured, Bellshaw was such a vindictive man.
Glen laughed her fears away, and made her promise to come and see him win the wager; he said Bellshaw would have no chance of using foul play against him.
"You'll give up the show after this match?" she begged.
"I'll hand my share over to Jim Benny," he answered. "I'll only go into the ring when you give me permission," he added smiling. He knew she would consent when he asked her.
The excitement caused over the two thousand pound wager was intense, and on Saturdaynight the building was crammed to suffocation.
Sam Wimpole had the horse in readiness, saddled and bridled, as it would have been impossible to do this in the ring. The horse was in a savage mood. Since morning he had gradually grown worse. Just before the performance was to commence he was in a perfect fury, lashing out, and biting at his tormentors.
Sam Wimpole watched him with a peculiar smile. When Craig Bellshaw came to look at Lion, as they named him, Sam cautioned him not to go near.
"Have you done it?" asked Bellshaw in a whisper.
"Yes, gave him an injection an hour ago. He's had three. I'll give him another before he goes into the ring; it will drive him almost mad. I wouldn't mount him for a thousand pounds."
"I shouldn't like to try you," said Bellshaw.
"I wouldn't really. What's a thousand pounds against your life?"
"Is it as bad as that?"
"Quite."
Bellshaw's smile was ugly. In imagination he saw Glen Leigh stretched out a crushed and battered mass.
The time drew nearer. A quarter of an hour before—the struggle was to commence at nine—Sam Wimpole took out a small syringe from his waistcoat pocket, crept up to the horse's side, and quickly made an injection. Lion shivered, then gave a snort, and tried to grab Sam as he nipped back into safety.
Sam wished to be rid of the syringe. It had done its work, but he dare not throw it away, and he could not go outside; he placed it in his trousers pocket for the time being.
Lion was led into the ring by two men who had long poles strapped on each side of his bit. No one was to be in the ring when Leigh took the bridle in his hand and the poles were loosened and taken away. There was a breathless silence as the horse stood quivering; it was broken by a deafening cheer as Glen Leigh came in. Lion reared and plunged at the sound, but was held fast. Leigh came towardshim, a heavy whip in his hand. He walked straight up to the horse, looking him in the eyes; at that moment he fancied there was something wrong with Lion, who seemed frenzied. His eyes glowed like live coals, his breath was hot, steaming; Glen felt it on his face. He undid the pole straps, made a signal to the men, who hastily drew them away and ran out of the ring, and sprang into the saddle before Lion was aware of his intention. Glen knew if he once got safely seated half the battle would be won. Luck favoured him in this respect.
The horse had never been mounted until this moment, and for a few seconds he seemed paralysed with fright at the strange experience. This did not last long. With a wicked bound he tried to get rid of his strange burden. It was a vain hope. Glen stuck to the saddle like a limpet to a rock. Lion was a far stronger horse than the Savage, and Wimpole had given him a drug that would increase his strength and endurance until the effect died away. Never had Glen Leigh been on such a horse.He knew Lion possessed tremendous strength. The strain on his arms was immense, also on the whole of his body.
Lion did not act like an ordinary buckjumper. He had his own plans of getting rid of his burden; they were quite original because they had been brought into play for the first time. He had a long reach, and whenever he tried to bite Glen's thigh he had to pull his legs back quickly. The horse showed no inclination to lie down, or to crush Glen against the posts. Without the slightest warning he set off on a furious gallop round and round the ring. After a dozen rounds he began bucking as no horse ever bucked before. Up and down he went like a rocking horse, then on all fours off the ground, his back arched to a point, all the saddle gear strained to bursting.
Glen felt the perspiration pouring off him. It was the hardest struggle of his life, but he intended winning. He would not be beaten.
Everybody in the vast audience watched the large clock as the fingers crept slowly on, the large hand gradually drawing nearer tothe quarter-past. Bellshaw watched the struggle between man and horse with absorbing interest. He knew what had been done, and that the horse possessed demoniacal strength for the time being.
Mrs. Prevost, her face white, her hands clutching nervously, watched every movement in the ring; how she prayed for his safety, and for the clock to point to a quarter-past nine. Never had she undergone such an ordeal. It would be in her memory for the rest of her life. Supposing he were killed? The horse seemed like some evil beast possessed of devils. She almost shrieked as a mad plunge nearly unseated Leigh for the first time, but he was still there. By some marvellous power he stuck to the saddle and the battle went on.
Glen Leigh knew the horse did not lose strength; rather had he gained it during the last few minutes. It surprised him, but he had no time to think.
Lion stood on his forelegs, his head almost touching the ground, his hind quarters straightup in the air. In this horizontal position he twisted like an eel, trying to wriggle Glen on to his neck. He leaned right back until his body was level with the horse's, then changing his whip quickly, he hit backwards, bringing the heavy knob hard on the root of the tail. This was too much for Lion. He came down on all fours and Glen shot bolt upright. There was a tremendous cheer. It was a wonderful piece of riding.
"I've never seen such a devil of a horse," said Nick. "It seems to me he's mad. I hope no harm will come to Glen."
Bill was nervous. It was the first time he had felt such a sensation. He turned to the bookmaker and said in a low voice, "It's my belief somebody's doped that horse—given him a drug. He'd never go on like that if he hadn't had something."
"They'd hardly dare do that," answered Nick.
"You don't know Bellshaw. He's capable of doing anything," returned Bill.
There was no time for more. Lion was at itagain, fighting more furiously during the last five minutes than he had done before. It was a question of endurance. Would Glen Leigh last out? Once, twice, a third time, he swayed in the saddle. A woman's cry echoed through the building. It was Mrs. Prevost. She had to be held up in her seat. It was only by exercising her will power to the uttermost that she recovered.
Bellshaw stared at the strugglers with his eyes bulging. He looked at the clock—four minutes, and Glen Leigh was well nigh dead-beat. Not one person in that vast crowd thought the horse would throw him, but they dreaded lest he should fall off exhausted.
Three minutes and he still stuck on, but his grasp on the reins loosened, and Lion, feeling this, redoubled his efforts. The fight was terrific, too thrilling almost to witness. The horse possessed almost miraculous strength.
Two minutes, and for the next sixty seconds Lion bucked like a clockwork machine until every bone in Glen's body felt like cracking. Only one minute to the quarter and stillGlen kept his seat. Half a minute more; a great gasp came from the crowd as Glen sank forward, clasping the savage brute with both arms round the neck, but he was still in the saddle. He was not thrown. The position was one of grave danger for Lion could reach his arms with his mouth. The horse stopped, panting, his nostrils blood red, his eyes shooting fire; they gleamed angrily.
"Get off," yelled Nick.
"Get off," yelled Bill, and hundreds of voices took up the cry. A shudder of horror passed through the huge crowd. Women fainted. Strong men shook. Hundreds hid their faces.
Lion, with a sudden swerve of his neck, got his teeth in Glen Leigh's arm. The pain was terrible. The muscles burned like fire. He caught sight of the clock. Only a second or two and he would win. Could he stand it? Lion tore his arm, then tried to seize his leg, but Glen was too quick for him.
"Time!"
A terrific shout.
"Time!" shouted the frantic crowd, and as Glen Leigh heard it he rolled out of the saddle in a dead faint; before anyone could rush up Lion planted his fore feet on his chest and bent his head towards his face.
"Shoot him! He'll tear his face," shouted Nick.
"You can't. He's my horse," yelled Bellshaw.
Bill rushed forward, an iron bar in his hand, and in the nick of time brought it down on Lion's head with a mighty sweep. He dropped like a log. Man and horse lay side by side in the ring.
Glen Leigh was taken to the Kangaroo and nursed by Mrs. Prevost. His chest was crushed, his arm lacerated, but he made a wonderful recovery, and in a week was removed to Sea View, Manley, where, needless to say, he received every attention.
The terrible fight between Glen and Lion was the topic of conversation for several days. Many trainers who were present were firmly convinced the horse had been drugged, or he would never have been so savage, or possessed such strength and staying powers. Nothing however, was discovered, and Sam Wimpole, in order to extract his money from Bellshaw, had to threaten him with exposure.
Glen was of this opinion. He, too, thought Lion had been dosed, but as he won the wager he thought it best to make no enquiries.
Craig Bellshaw was beaten. His temper wasnot improved. He heard Leigh was at Manley, and decided to go and visit Mrs. Prevost. Some years ago, when he was infatuated with her, he had made a will in her favour, leaving her Mintaro and all the stock on it; this he decided to alter as soon as possible. He would tell her when he reached the house.
He landed from the boat, walking along the street to the sea-front. As he turned in at the gate he looked up at the bedroom window. What he saw caused a shock which almost deprived him of reason. He stood staring at what he thought was the ghost of the woman he had left to die of hunger and thirst. It was Clara looking out. She saw him enter. Her face changed rapidly. The seat of memory was no longer vacant. She recognised him, and with the recognition returned a flood of recollections. The horror on her face made it look unearthly. She fixed her eyes on Bellshaw with a glassy stare which he returned; he dare not move. Leigh told him the woman was dead and this must be an apparition.
What did it mean?
Of one thing, in his confused state of mind, he was certain; he must fly from the spot. But his feet were rooted to the ground, and he could not take his eyes off.
The woman swayed to and fro, pointed at him with her hand. Then suddenly the thing vanished. She had fallen on to the floor in a dead faint.
Bellshaw knew nothing of this—he was horrified. His mind gradually became unhinged. He imagined the ghost disappeared suddenly in order to come out to him, perhaps seize him. In his frenzy he attributed supernatural strength to the apparition. It might carry him off, take him away to some dreadful place.
Bellshaw turned and fled, running along the sea-front like a madman, then turning towards the landing stage; reaching it, as the steamer was moving away, he ran on, and despite all the warning cries made a desperate leap. His head struck the paddle box; the wheel spun him round as he fell into the water. The boat stopped, assistance was at once rendered, but Bellshaw had disappeared. After waitinga quarter of an hour the captain left one of his men behind to report to the police, and proceeded on his journey to Circular Quay.
Craig Bellshaw's body was recovered later on in the day. His head having struck the paddle box, he was rendered unconscious and he sank like a stone.
When Clara fell with a thud on the floor of the bedroom, Mrs. Prevost rushed upstairs and found her insensible. A severe illness of some weeks followed. When she recovered she remembered everything in her life at Mintaro, and how she came to Glen Leigh's hut. It was a pitiful story, and Glen Leigh, Mrs. Prevost, Bigs and Jim listened to it in sadness. As a young girl she recollected being with Lin Soo. How he obtained possession of her she had no idea. There were other girls about her own age, and they were kindly treated for several years.
Then one day she recollected Bellshaw coming to Lin Soo's. She did not like him; she shrank from him when he touched her. She only had a hazy idea of how she was taken to Mintaro. She must have been drugged insome way. At first Bellshaw treated her kindly, doing all in his power to ingratiate himself with her. She refused all his advances, and this changed his whole actions towards her. He attempted to force her to his will and failed. Garry Backham assisted her as far as he dare. He smuggled a revolver into her room, and with this she felt safe. For a long time her life was one constant, unceasing watchfulness. She dare not sleep. When she dozed she awoke in a fright fearing Bellshaw was near her. She shot at him once, wounding him in the arm. It was soon after this he said he was tired of her and offered to drive her to Bourke and send her to Sydney.
She related what happened when they reached the water hole; how he thrust her out of the buggy, sprang after her, and tried to push her into the muddy water. She struggled, then fainted. When she came to herself she was alone, lost in the great spaces surrounding her. She struggled on for several days, until at last she staggered into Glen's hut, and fell on his rough bed.
In answer to questions she said she had noidea who her parents were, nor did she seem to remember any home other than Lin Soo's. It could do no good questioning her further, so the subject dropped. She explained how she saw Bellshaw looking up at the window and he recognised her. Glen expressed the opinion that Bellshaw must have thought he had seen a ghost and the sight turned his brain.
At the inquest held on him, death was stated to be caused by drowning, and that this was brought about in the manner already described. Craig Bellshaw's lawyer had his will. He came to Sea View. Great was Rosa Prevost's surprise when she discovered that Mintaro and all the stock on the station was her absolute property. Looking at the date of the will she knew he must have forgotten to alter it until too late. She consulted Glen Leigh as to whether she should take advantage of it, and he left it entirely in her hands. The lawyer strongly advised her to take over Mintaro as there were no direct heirs to it. This she decided to do, more for Glen's sake than for her own.
Ten years had gone by since Bellshaw's death and other happenings. Glen Leigh and his wife, Rosa Prevost, lived at Mintaro, where everything prospered with them. They had five children, three boys and two girls, all well grown and strong.
The hands at Mintaro found Leigh a very different "boss" from Bellshaw.
Garry Backham sold out at Boonara and came back to Mintaro as overseer, and very glad he was to be there under such a master. Glen mustered all the stock on the station and found thousands more cattle and sheep than he anticipated. Many of the wild horses were shot, others tamed and used on the station. He bought a small stud-farm near Albury, and sent horses to be trained by Ivor Hadwin. There was a prospect of a successful year before the stable at the end of five seasons when Glen had a score of horses, most of them bred by himself, in training. The sweep money came in very handy to run the station and tide over one or two bad seasons; when rain and the good times came Mintaro cleared a fortune for them every year.
Jim Benny and his wife, the woman who suffered so much at Bellshaw's hands, and whom Jim helped Glen Leigh to save, came to Mintaro, where Clara acted as nurse and governess to all the children until such time as the two elder boys went to school in Sydney; she then took charge of the three at home, and Mrs. Leigh found her a great help and a genial companion.
It took a lot of persuasion to get her to come to Mintaro, of which she had so many unpleasant memories, but eventually they prevailed when it was pointed out how advantageous it would be for her husband.
The show was sold as a going concern; Lion had to be shot; he never recovered from the blow Bill gave him. A post-mortem was made at Gerard's request and the veterinary surgeon said the horse had been heavily dosed with a powerful drug, which undoubtedly caused him to be in a frenzy in the ring when Glen rode him.
Lin Soo was tackled by Glen and Bill Bigs, and compelled to pay a large sum of money to Mrs. Benny in order to avoid criminal prosecution. Moreover, he was forced by them toleave Sydney and return to his own country. Chun Shan was installed as head cook at Mintaro, a position he worthily filled.
Sea View, Manley, was not sold; the Leighs used it as their residence on visits to Sydney.
It was a great day for Ivor Hadwin when he won the Sydney Cup for Glen Leigh, whose white jacket, black belt and cap, were immensely popular. Horatio was the horse, and, as he started at two to one, the enthusiasm was immense. Later both the V.R.C., and A.J.C. Derbies fell to Glen's share, and he had hopes of landing a Melbourne Cup with a son of Barellan's, who was at the Albury Stud, and a most successful sire.
Glen never forgot the keepers of the fence, and when he came to Mintaro they soon discovered they had a friend in the man who had once been one of themselves. Glen sometimes rode there and chatted with them, rendering their lives less lonely.
One day he drove his wife to the glittering wire and showed her where he had stood for long hours in the terrible heat and drought.
"What an awful life, Glen," she said, with a shudder.
"I stood it all right," he replied, "but I was glad when it ended."
When Barellan's son won the Melbourne Cup, Bill Bigs, pointing Glen Leigh out to a friend, said, "He drew Barellan in the big sweep, and now he's won it with his son."
"That isn't likely to happen again," was the reply.
"No, I don't suppose it is," said Bigs.
Luke Nicholl came to Mintaro for a change, which he thoroughly enjoyed. Jerry Makeshift came with him; both were heartily welcomed.
"I shall never forget it was owing to you, Jerry, I bought the ticket in the sweep, and drew the winner," said Glen.
"You've made good use of the money, anyway," was Jerry's reply.