Explore "Hard Pressed" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There was the usual roar from the ring which began to die down as the horses were seen fidgeting at the post. Then a murmur arose from the spectators, and the dancing kaleidoscope of colours broke into a thin stream as the field got away to a capital start. They came along all in a cluster round the bend of the course till, presently, there was a hoarse shout from the onlookers and the name of the Blenheim colt was on every lip. The horse hung for a moment or two coming up the straight, then seemed to recover himself and, moving along with a beautifully free and easy stride, caught the leaders a dozen lengths from home and slipped past the post a winner by a short head.
"What did I tell you? " Raffle chuckled. "Well, they can't blame me. I was told by Sir George to do the best I could with the horse and I carried out my instructions to the letter. No, sir, I didn't back him myself. I wasn't quite sure. Besides, Sir George wouldn't have liked it. Between you and me, sir, I don't think he'll be altogether pleased."