Horace Tucker, The New Arcadia (1894)
“ Others may shoot forward, others drop behind, his level stride neither quickens nor slackens. Nay, it is quickening now! Slowly from out the field he draws. The clay brushed by living curry-combs from his shining sides, the jockey clinging manfully with both hands to the friendly pummel, the reins fluttering like ribbons in the breeze. ”
