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beginning to have quite a high opinion of myself.
The Ringwell Races were late in April that year.
Denis rode his best horse in the Heavy Weights and
beat me by three lengths. His victory seemed to me
quite appropriate, and everyone wanted him to win,
It had never occurred to me that I should finish in
front of him. Good-natured Mr, Gaffikin was there
again to give me a leg-up^, and he praised me for my
improved handling of my horse. He assured me that
if I'd won the Race two years running I should never
have been able to get my hat on again—a remark
which appeared to cause him extreme satisfaction,
for he repeated it more than once, with a lady-killing
laugh. (The inference was that I should have suffered
from "a swelled head59.)

I saw very little of Denis during that summer, which
was a wet one, and bad for my batting average.
Having made only fifteen runs in my last seven
innings I was glad enough to put away my cricket-
bag, and by the second week in September I was
back at the Kennels for a prolonged stay. There was
a new lot of horses, and Denis, who badly needed
someone to talk to, always had a spare one for me
to ride.

Ringwell cubbing days are among my happiest
memories. Those mornings now reappear in my mind,
lively and freshly painted by the sunshine of an
autumn that made amends for the rainy weeks
which had washed away the summer. Four days a
week we were up before daylight. I had heard the
snoring stable-hands roll out of bed with yawns and
grumblings, and they were out and about before the