The hare had never lost a race. He had also never really run one, which amounted to the same thing in his mind. He was fast, and everyone knew he was fast, and that was enough.
So when the tortoise challenged him, the hare laughed. The other animals gathered at the starting line with the patience of those who expect to watch something instructive.
They set off. The hare was gone in a flash, a streak across the meadow, and the tortoise moved as the tortoise always moved, one steady step following another, neither hurrying nor pausing, with the serene air of a creature that has thought the matter through.
The hare reached the halfway point and looked back. The tortoise was a small shape in the far distance, barely moving, almost comic. The hare yawned. He found a sunny patch of grass beside the road and lay down. Just a short rest, he told himself. There was no possible way to lose.
He slept very well.
The tortoise passed him without a word. The tortoise did not look over. The tortoise had no interest in the hare at all, only in the path ahead and the placing of one foot in front of the other.
By the time the hare woke and saw what had happened, it was over.
Steady work beats brilliant idleness, every time.