Card of the races. Racing card!
Ten to one the field!
Tommy on the clay here! Tommy on the clay!
Ten to one bar one! Ten to one bar one!
Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!
Ten to one bar one!
Sell the monkey, boys! Sell the monkey!
I’ll give ten to one!
Ten to one bar one!
_(A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost,
his mane moonfoaming, his eyeballs stars. The field follows, a bunch of
bucking mounts. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second,
Zinfandel, the Duke of Westminster’s Shotover, Repulse, the Duke of
Beaufort’s Ceylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured,
leaping, leaping in their, in their saddles. Last in a drizzle of rain
on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the North, the favourite, honey
cap, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the
reins, a hockeystick at the ready. His nag on spavined whitegaitered
feet jogs along the rocky road.)_
THE ORANGE LODGES: _(Jeering.)_ Get down and push, mister. Last lap!
You’ll be home the night!
GARRETT DEASY: _(Bolt upright, his nailscraped face plastered with
postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his blue eyes flashing in
the prism of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling
gallop.)_
_Per vias rectas!_
_(A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his rearing nag a torrent
of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips,
potatoes.)_
THE GREEN LODGES: Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honour!
_(Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the
windows, singing in discord.)_
STEPHEN: Hark! Our friend noise in the street.
ZOE: _(Holds up her hand.)_ Stop!