The crowd shouted. She looked where the others looked, but saw only the
burning blue with the white stand marked upon it. It was crowded like the
deck of a sinking vessel, and Esther wondered at the excitement, the cause
of which was hidden from her. She wandered to the edge of the crowd until
she came to a chalk road where horses and mules were tethered. A little
higher up she entered the crowd again, and came suddenly upon a switchback
railway. Full of laughing and screaming girls, it bumped over a middle
hill, and then rose slowly till it reached the last summit. It was shot
back again into the midst of its fictitious perils, and this mock voyaging
was accomplished to the sound of music from a puppet orchestra. Bells and
drums, a fife and a triangle, cymbals clashed mechanically, and a little
soldier beat the time. Further on, under a striped awning, were the wooden
horses. They were arranged so well that they rocked to and fro, imitating
as nearly as possible the action of real horses. Esther watched the
riders. A blue skirt looked like a riding habit, and a girl in salmon pink
leaned back in her saddle just as if she had been taught how to ride. A
girl in a grey jacket encouraged a girl in white who rode a grey horse.
But before Esther could make out for certain that the man in the blue
Melton jacket was Bill Evans he had passed out of sight, and she had to
wait until his horse came round the second time. At that moment she caught
sight of the red poppies in Sarah's hat.
The horses began to slacken speed. They went slower and slower, then
stopped altogether. The riders began to dismount and Esther pressed
through the bystanders, fearing she would not be able to overtake her
friends.
"Oh, here you are," said Sarah. "I thought I never should find you again.
How hot it is!"
"Were you on in that ride? Let's have another, all three of us. These
three horses."
Round and round they went, their steeds bobbing nobly up and down to the
sound of fifes, drums and cymbals. They passed the winning-post many
times; they had to pass it five times, and the horse that stopped nearest
it won the prize. A long-drawn-out murmur, continuous as the sea, swelled
up from the course--a murmur which at last passed into words: "Here they
come; blue wins, the favourite's beat." Esther paid little attention to
these cries; she did not understand them; they reached her indistinctly
and soon died away, absorbed in the strident music that accompanied the
circling horses. These had now begun to slacken speed.... They went slower
and slower. Sarah and Bill, who rode side by side, seemed like winning,
but at the last moment they glided by the winning-post. Esther's steed
stopped in time, and she was told to choose a china mug from a great heap.
"You've all the luck to-day," said Bill. "Hayfield, who was backed all the
winter, broke down a month ago.... 2 to 1 against Fly-leaf, 4 to 1 against
Signet-ring, 4 to 1 against Dewberry, 10 to 1 against Vanguard, the winner
at 50 to 1 offered. Your husband must have won a little fortune. Never was
there such a day for the bookies."
Esther said she was very glad, and was undecided which mug she should
choose. At last she saw one on which "Jack" was written in gold letters.
They then visited the peep-shows, and especially liked St. James's Park
with the Horse Guards out on parade; the Spanish bull-fight did not stir
them, and Sarah couldn't find a single young man to her taste in the House
of Commons. Among the performing birds they liked best a canary that
climbed a ladder. Bill was attracted by the American strength-testers, and
he gave an exhibition of his muscle, to Sarah's very great admiration.
They all had some shies at cocoa-nuts, and passed by J. Bilton's great
bowling saloon without visiting it. Once more the air was rent with the
cries of "Here they come! Here they come!" Even the 'commodation men left
their canvas shelters and pressed forward inquiring which had won. A
moment after a score of pigeons floated and flew through the blue air and
then departed in different directions, some making straight for London,
others for the blue mysterious evening that had risen about the Downs--the
sun-baked Downs strewn with waste paper and covered by tipsy men and
women, a screaming and disordered animality.
"Well, so you've come back at last," said William. "The favourite was
beaten. I suppose you know that a rank outsider won. But what about this
gentleman?"
"Met these 'ere ladies on the 'ill an' been showing them over the course.
No offence, I hope, guv'nor?"
William did not answer, and Bill took leave of Sarah in a manner that told
Esther that they had arranged to meet again.
"Where did you pick up that bloke?"
"He came up and spoke to us, and Esther stopped to speak to the parson."
"To the parson. What do you mean?"
The circumstance was explained, and William asked them what they thought
of the racing.
"We didn't see no racing," said Sarah; "we was on the 'ill on the wooden
'orses. Esther's 'orse won. She got a mug; show the mug, Esther."
"So you saw no Derby after all?" said William.
"Saw no racin'!" said his neighbour; "ain't she won the cup?"
The joke was lost on the women, who only perceived that they were being
laughed at.
"Come up here, Esther," said William; "stand on my box. The 'orses are
just going up the course for the preliminary canter. And you, Sarah, take
Teddy's place. Teddy, get down, and let the lady up."
"Yes, guv'nor. Come up 'ere, ma'am."
"And is those the 'orses?" said Sarah. "They do seem small."
The ringmen roared. "Not up to those on the 'ill, ma'am," said one. "Not
such beautiful goers," said another.
There were two or three false starts, and then, looking through a
multitude of hats, Esther saw five or six thin greyhound-looking horses.
They passed like shadows, flitted by; and she was sorry for the poor
chestnut that trotted in among the crowd.
This was the last race. Once more the favourite had been beaten; there
were no bets to pay, and the bookmakers began to prepare for departure. It
was the poor little clerks who were charged with the luggage. Teddy did
not seem as if he would ever reach the top of the hill. With Esther and
Sarah on either arm, William struggled with the crowd. It was hard to get
through the block of carriages. Everywhere horses waited with their
harness on, and Sarah was afraid of being bitten or kicked. A young
aristocrat cursed them from the box-seat, and the groom blew a blast as
the drag rolled away. It was like the instinct of departure which takes a
vast herd at a certain moment. The great landscape, half country, half
suburb, glinted beneath the rays of a setting sun; and through the white
dust, and the drought of the warm roads, the brakes and carriages and
every crazy vehicle rolled towards London; orange-sellers, tract-sellers,
thieves, vagrants, gipsies, made for their various quarters--roadside
inns, outhouses, hayricks, hedges, or the railway station. Down the long
hill the vast crowd made its way, humble pedestrians and carriage folk,
all together, as far as the cross-roads. At the "Spread Eagle" there would
be stoppage for a parting drink, there the bookmakers would change their
clothes, and there division would happen in the crowd--half for the
railway station, half for the London road. It was there that the
traditional sports of the road began. A drag, with a band of exquisites
armed with pea-shooters, peppering on costers who were getting angry, and
threatening to drive over the leaders. A brake with two poles erected, and
hanging on a string quite a line of miniature chamber-pots. A horse, with
his fore-legs clothed in a pair of lady's drawers. Naturally unconscious
of the garment, the horse stepped along so absurdly that Esther and Sarah
thought they'd choke with laughter.
At the station William halloaed to old John, whom he caught sight of on
the platform. He had backed the winner--forty to one about Sultan. It was
Ketley who had persuaded him to risk half a sovereign on the horse. Ketley
was at the Derby; he had met him on the course, and Ketley had told him a
wonderful story about a packet of Turkish Delight. The omen had come right
this time, and Journeyman took a back seat.
"Say what you like," said William, "it is damned strange; and if anyone
did find the way of reading them omens there would be an end of us
bookmakers." He was only half in earnest, but he regretted he had not met
Ketley. If he had only had a fiver on the horse--200 to 5!
They met Ketley at Waterloo, and every one wanted to hear from his own
lips the story of the packet of Turkish Delight. So William proposed they
should all come up to the "King's Head" for a drink. The omnibus took them
as far as Piccadilly Circus; and there the weight of his satchel tempted
William to invite them to dinner, regardless of expense.
"Which is the best dinner here?" he asked the commissionaire.
"The East Room is reckoned the best, sir."
The fashion of the shaded candles and the little tables, and the beauty of
an open evening bodice and the black and white elegance of the young men
at dinner, took the servants by surprise, and made them feel that they
were out of place in such surroundings. Old John looked like picking up a
napkin and asking at the nearest table if anything was wanted. Ketley
proposed the grill room, but William, who had had a glass more than was
good for him, declared that he didn't care a damn--that he could buy up
the whole blooming show. The head-waiter suggested a private room; it was
abruptly declined, and William took up the menu. "Bisque Soup, what's
that? You ought to know, John." John shook his head. "Ris de veau! That
reminds me of when----" William stopped and looked round to see if his
former wife was in the room. Finally, the head-waiter was cautioned to
send them up the best dinner in the place. Allusion was made to the dust
and heat. Journeyman suggested a sluice, and they inquired their way to
the lavatories. Esther and Sarah were away longer than the men, and stood
dismayed at the top of the room till William called for them. The other
guests seemed a little terrified, and the head-waiter, to reassure them,
mentioned that it was Derby Day.
William had ordered champagne, but it had not proved to any one's taste
except, perhaps, to Sarah, whom it rendered unduly hilarious; nor did the
delicate food afford much satisfaction; the servants played with it, and
left it on their plates; and it was not until William ordered up the
saddle of mutton and carved it himself that the dinner began to take hold
of the company. Esther and Sarah enjoyed the ices, and the men stuck to
the cheese, a fine Stilton, which was much appreciated. Coffee no one
cared for, and the little glasses of brandy only served to augment the
general tipsiness. William hiccupped out an order for a bottle of Jamieson
eight-year-old; but pipes were not allowed, and cigars were voted tedious,
so they adjourned to the bar, where they were free to get as drunk as they
pleased. William said, "Now let's 'ear the blo----the bloody omen that put
ye on to Sultan--that blood--packet of Turkish Delight."
"Most extra--most extraordinary thing I ever heard in my life, so yer
'ere?" said Ketley, staring at William and trying to see him distinctly.
William nodded. "How was it? We want to 'ear all about it. Do hold yer
tongue, Sarah. I beg pardon, Ketley is go--going to tell us about the
bloody omen. Thought you'd like to he--ar, old girl."
Allusion was made to a little girl coming home from school, and a piece of
paper on the pavement. But Ketley could not concentrate his thoughts on
the main lines of the story, and it was lost in various dissertations. But
the company was none the less pleased with it, and willingly declared that
bookmaking was only a game for mugs. Get on a winner at forty to one, and
you could make as much in one bet as a poor devil of a bookie could in six
months, fagging from race-course to race-course. They drank, argued, and
quarrelled, until Esther noticed that Sarah was looking very pale. Old
John was quite helpless; Journeyman, who seemed to know what he was doing,
very kindly promised to look after him.
Ketley assured the commissionaire that he was not drunk; and when they got
outside Sarah felt obliged to step aside; she came back, saying that she
felt a little better.
They stood on the pavement's edge, a little puzzled by the brilliancy of
the moonlight. And the three men who followed out of the bar-room were
agreed regarding the worthlessness of life. One said, "I don't think much
of it; all I live for is beer and women." The phrase caught on William's
ear, and he said, "Quite right, old mate," and he held out his hand to
Bill Evans. "Beer and women, it always comes round to that in the end, but
we mustn't let them hear us say it." The men shook hands, and Bill
promised to see Sarah safely home. Esther tried to interpose, but William
could not be made to understand, and Sarah and Bill drove away together in
a hansom. Sarah dozed off immediately on his shoulder, and it was
difficult to awaken her when the cab stopped before a house whose
respectability took Bill by surprise.