“You can tell he’s Kentucky born and bred,” Henry whispered. “He’s built for speed all the way.”

Alec nodded. “He sure is streamlined,” he said.

They watched while the photographers took shots of him. Then they went up the line toward Sun Raider’s stable. They saw him as he was coming in off the track. Alec gasped—he was just about as big and powerful-looking as the Black! His coat was chestnut gold. His head was small and his neck rose in a crest like the Black’s.

“Gee,” Alec said, “he almost looks like the Black.”

“Yeah,” whispered Henry. “He might prove to be the one we’ll have to beat. But we can’t forget Cyclone,” he said as he jerked his head backwards. “That horse has never been pushed to his top speed; he runs only fast enough to win.”

“They’re both going to be tough to beat,” Alec said.

“The fastest in the world—take my word for it,” Henry said. “But we knew what we were getting into.”

“I still think the Black can beat them,” Alec said.

THE MATCH RACE
18

The day of the big race! The eyes of the nation turned upon Chicago. All morning long trains, buses, autos and planes roared into the city discharging thousands of passengers bound for the track.

A carnival spirit swept over the city. Everything was closed for the day, and everywhere one question was asked, “Who will win—Cyclone or Sun Raider?”

“How’re you doin’, Charlie?” asked a motorcycle cop of a policeman who was directing traffic at one of Chicago’s busiest corners, as he pulled up beside him.

“Never saw anything like it, Pat!” came the answer. “Where the devil they all coming from?” Horns blew from the endless lines of cars that stretched far down the avenues.

“I’m worn out myself. They’re just about packed solid from here to the track. They’ll never get all of ’em inside!”

“They’re comin’ from all over the country to see this race. Boy, I’d like to be up there myself—to see Cyclone lick ’em!”

The motorcycle cop kicked his motor over. “So would I,” he yelled above the roar. “But it’s going to be Sun Raider by three lengths!”

“We’ll see. Say, what do you think of this mystery horse?”

“Nothin’ much—guess everyone’s beginning to wonder how he got in the race anyway. He won’t figure in it at all—that’s inside stuff! See you later.…”

In a large apartment house, not far from the track, Alec’s mother and his Aunt Bess looked out the large living-room window at the slow-moving traffic below them. In the distance they could see the track already jammed with people.

“Bess, did you ever see such traffic in all your life?” Mrs. Ramsay asked. “What on earth is happening over there?”

“Don’t tell me that you haven’t heard about the big match race that’s being run today. Everyone has been talking about it. Why, I even bought box seat tickets. I was going to surprise you!”

“But, Bess, I’ve never seen a horse race in my life. I won’t know what it’s all about!”