He got off a clear length in front of everything else.
"Good boy," roared old Andy, "he's smart as paint. A fiver to nothing now, he rides a good race."
The boy on Boxer was quite aware that so far the luck had been all his way, and crouching low in his saddle he thankfully regarded the clear open course before him. He was sure they had been trying to beat him at the start.
The race was a mile and a half, and Horrocks's trainer had given him implicit directions as to how to ride his mount.
"Keep well up, lad," he had said, "for the first half of the journey; then ease him a bit and make your run two furlongs from home. Boxer can sprint as well as stay. Don't be afraid if you're laying back a bit just as you come round the bend, but if you've escaped so far look out for trouble there. T
