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demeanour was jauntily portentous. But when I was
alone with myself and indoors, I often felt so nervous
that the month-long remoteness of the point-to-points
became almost unbearable. My confidence in Cock-
bird's ability to carry off the Colonel's Cup served
only to magnify my imaginations of what might go
wrong in the race through my own lack of experience.

I consoled myself with day-dreams in which I won
in every way that my limited racing repertory could
contrive. There was cantering home an easy winner;
and there was winning cleverly by half a length; and
there was corning up with a rush to score sensationally
in the last stride. Easy winner lacked intensity; I
would have preferred something more spectacular
and heroic. But this was difficult to manage; I couldn't
win with my arm in a sling unless I started in that
condition, which would be an anti-climax. On the
whole I was in favour of a fine finish with Stephen,
although even this seemed inappropriate because
Jerry was believed to be much slower than Cock-
bird, and could only hope to win if I fell—a thought
which reduced my suppositions to reality.

Meanwhile Cockbird existed unperturbed, munch-
ing large feeds of crushed oats (with which Dixon
mixed some water, for he had an idea that this was
good for his wind) and doing three hours' steady work
on the road every day. Once a week we took him to
a ten-acre field on a hillside, which a well-disposed
farmer allowed us to use for gallops. Round and
round we went with set and serious faces (Dixon
riding Harkaway), until we had done three presump-
tive miles up and down hilL When we pulled up
Dixon would jump off, and I would jump off to
stand meekly by the horses' snorting heads while he
fussed round Cockbird with ajs much solemnity and