Then they lay under the trees until a bell, ringing
from the saddling paddock, hinted that the first race was at hand. There
was a surge of people towards the rise.
"Come on," Jim said, jumping up. "Help me to stow these things in the
buggy, Wally--we'll want most of them for afternoon tea later on. Then
we might as well go and see the fun. You girls rested?"
They were, they declared; and presently they set off towards the rise.
Already the horses were appearing on the track, most of the jockeys
wearing silk jackets and caps, although a few were content with doffing
coat and waistcoat, and riding in blue and pink shirts--occasionally,
but not always, complete with collar and tie. The horses were a mixed
lot; some bore traces of birth and breeding, but the majority were just
grass-fed horses from the neighbouring farms and stations, groomed and
polished in a way that only happened to them once a year. The well-bred
performers were handicapped with heavy weights, while the others had
been let off lightly, so that all had a chance.
"Billabong has a horse running to-day--did you know?" Jim inquired.
"No!" Tommy looked up, dimpling with interest. "But how exciting, Jim.
Is it yours?"
"No." Jim shook his head. "I won't enter a horse if I can't ride him
myself, and of course I'm too heavy. He belongs to the station, but he's
always looked upon as Murty's, and black Billy's going to ride him.
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