Presently they emerged from the timber
and came into the straight run that marked the finish--running along the
foot of the southern rise, so that, whatever happened in the mysterious
moments in the earlier parts of a race, the end was within full view of
the crowd. The winning-post was a sawed-off sapling, painted half-black
and half-white; opposite to it was the judge's box, a huge log which
made a natural grand-stand, capable of accommodating the racing
committee as well. Behind, a rough wire fence enclosed a small
space known as the saddling paddock. The crowd picked out its own
accommodation--it was necessary to come early if you wanted a good
place on the rise. Already it was dotted with picnic parties, preparing
luncheon, and a procession of men and boys, bearing teapots and billies,
came and went about a huge copper, steaming over a fire, where the
racing club dispensed hot water free of charge, a generosity chiefly
intended to prevent the casual lighting of fires by the picnickers.
All over the paddock people were hastening through the business of the
midday meal; the men anxious to get it over before the real excitement
of the day began with the racing, the women equally keen to feed their
hungry belongings and then settle down to a comfortable gossip with
friends perhaps only seen once or twice in the twelve months. Children
tore about wildly, got in the way of buggies and motors, climbed trees
and clustered thickly round any horse suspected of taking part in
the racing.
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