Suddenly Porter gave a cry of astonishment. "My God!" he muttered, "the
boy has got spurs on. That'll set the mare clean crazy."

He turned to Dixon, who was at his elbow: "Why did you let McKay put on
the steels?"

"I told him not to." "He's got them on."

"They've got to come off," and the Trainer dashed up the steps to the
Stewards. In two minutes he returned, a heavy frown on his face.

"Well?" queried Porter.

"I've made a mess of it," answered Dixon, sullenly. "It seems there's
hints of a job on, an' the Stewards have got the wrong end of the
stick."

"They refused to let the mare go back to the paddock?" queried Porter.

"Yes; an' one of them said that if trainers would stick closer to their
horses, an' keep out of the bettin' ring, that the public'd get a better
run for their money."

"I'm sorry, Andy," said Porter, consolingly.

"It's pretty tough on me, but it's worse on you, sir. That boy hadn't
spurs when he weighed, an' there's the rankest kind of a job on, I'll
take me oath."