"Drunk!" cried the Colonel, shocked inexpressibly. "And the race this
afternoon!"
"Marse Frank said you was to come, suh, an' help sobuh him."
Madge approached the Colonel anxiously. "Yes; sober him, if you have to
turn him inside out!"
"'Fraid he's done on bofe sides, missy; drunk cl'ar t'rough," said Neb.
The Colonel grasped his hat. "We'll try, we'll try," he said. "Oh,
whisky, whisky! What a pity anyone can get too much of so good a thing!"
"I neber could, suh," Neb replied, "but dat 'ar jockey--"
They hurried out together.
Madge was in intense distress. She knew what this might mean. If Queen
Bess could not run--and she could not, certainly, without a jockey--the
Dyer Brothers would not buy her, probably; and if she were not sold in
time, then Layson would be quite unable to meet the assessment on his
stock in the coal-mining company. She was by no means certain what this
was, or what the reason for it, but she had heard talk of it and knew
that it was very serious. Almost beside herself with her anxiety, she
could do nothing save sit there and wait for news. The entrance, even of
Barbara Holton, who came in, now, was a relief to her overtaxed nerves.
"Say," said she, admitting Barbara nearer to good-fellowship than she
had ever done before, "I reckon you have heered the news--Ike's
drunk--dead drunk!"
Barbara regarded her excitement with a careful calm. She, herself, had
been excited by the news when it had reached her, but a moment since,
but she would not let this girl know that. Her role was to endeavor to
force the mountain girl back into what she thought her place, at any
cost.
"Yes, I've heard," said she, "and it's too late to get another jockey,
so Queen Bess can't run."
She had formed a plan, deep in her mind, and had sought the
mountain-girl with the skilful scheme.
"Then Mr. Frank is goin' to be ruined!" Madge exclaimed, dejectedly.
"Not unless you wish it," Barbara replied, looking straight into her
eyes.
"Dellaw! Me wish that? Just you tell me what you mean!"
The bluegrass girl stood looking at the mountain maiden with appraising
eye for a few seconds. Then she crossed the room and stood close by her
side, while she tapped upon the table nervously with her carefully
gloved fingers.
"If this sale fails, as it seems it must," she said, slowly, "it rests
with you whether my father will advance the money to pay the assessment
on that stock of Mr. Layson's."
"Your father give him the money?" Madge said in astonishment. "Well, I'd
never thought o' that! But what have I got to do about it?"
The situation was a hard one, even for the self-possession of the
lowlands girl, who had inherited her father's coolness in emergency as
well as some other traits less desirable. Her color rose and she tried,
earnestly, to gather words which would express the thought she had in
mind without including a confession of the weakness of her own position.
This she could not, do, however. She walked over to the window, gazed
from it, for a moment, at the passing crowds, and then returned to
Madge, to tell her bluntly: "I want you to go away from here."
"Me go away? What for?"
It was impossible, Barbara now discovered, to make her meaning wholly
clear, without some measure of humiliation. The first thing that was,
obviously, necessary was a statement of facts as they were, and this
must include confession of her own sore weakness. She hesitated, trying
to avoid it, but when she quite decided that it could not be helped,
plunged on with a perfect frankness. What she wished was immediately to
gain her point. If she must eat a bit of humble pie in order to
accomplish this, why, she would eat it, much as she disliked the diet.
"Can't you see that it is you who stand between Frank and me?" she
cried. "If it hadn't been for you, I should have been his promised wife!
If you will go away and never see him again, I can win him back."
Madge was dumbfounded. The cold and utter selfishness of the girl's
proposal was astounding. She looked at Barbara with eyes in which
incredulous amazement gave way, slowly, to an expression of chill
wonder. "Say, you don't seem to squander many thoughts on other people!
S'posin' I happen to love him a little, myself!"
Barbara laughed scornfully. Sprung from low stock, herself, but reared
in luxury, she had the most complete contempt for anyone whom
circumstances had denied advantages such as she had known. "You--_you_
love him!" she exclaimed.
The words had slipped from Madge's lips without forethought, and,
instantly, she very much regretted them; but, now that she had uttered
them she did not so much as think of trying to recall them or deny their
truth. "Yes, and I ain't ashamed of it," said she. "I _do_ love him--a
thousand times better nor you ever dreamed of."
"What good will it do you?" asked her rival, coldly. "You don't suppose
he'll ever think of making you his wife! Why, look at the difference
between you and me!"
"Yes," said Madge, sarcastically, "there _is_ a powerful sight of
differ! You'd be willin' to ruin' him to win him, while I'd be willin'
to gin up my happiness to save him!"
Barbara, more in earnest than she ever had been in her life before, took
a quick step toward the mountain girl. "Then prove it by going away,"
said she, "and I will see that my father advances Frank Layson the money
he needs." She looked at her eagerly. "Do you promise?"
"No," said Madge, with firm decision. "No; I won't."
"Then it is you who will ruin him."
While they had been talking an idea had sprung to sudden flower in
Madge's mind. It was a daring, an unheard of plan that had occurred to
her. There were details of it which filled her with shrinking. She knew
that if she put it into practice, and it ever became generally known,
she would be the talk of Lexington and that not all that talk would be
complimentary. She knew that, after she had carried out the plan, even
the man for whom she thought of doing it might look at her with scorn.
But it was the only plan which her alert and anxious brain could find
which promised anything at all. And if it won, perhaps--perhaps--he
might not scorn her! At any rate it was a sacrifice, and sacrifice for
him was an attractive thought to her.
"Me ruin him?" she said to Barbara. "Don't you be too sure! There is a
shorter and a better way nor yours, to save him, an' I'm goin' to try
it!"
The bluegrass girl, astonished, would have questioned her, but Madge
waited for no questioning. Without another word she hurried from the
room, in a mad search for Colonel Doolittle.
* * * * *
From the country round about for miles the planters had come into
Lexington upon their blooded mounts, their wives, daughters,
sweethearts, riding in great carriages. Now and then a vehicle, coming
from some far-away plantation, was drawn by a gay four-in-hand, and the
drivers of such equipages, negroes always, showed a haughty scorn of
their black fellow-men who travelled humbly on the backs of mules, or
trudged the long and dusty way on foot. Gorgeous were the costumes of
the ladies whom the carriages conveyed; elegant the dress of the gay
gentlemen who rode beside the vehicles on prancing steeds, gallant
escorts of Kentucky's lovely womanhood, prepared, especially, to watch
the carriage-horses when the town was reached and guard against
disasters due to their encounter with such disturbing and unusual things
as crowds, brass-bands and other marvels of a great occasion.
Everywhere upon the sidewalks people swarmed like ants, delighted with
the calm perfection of the day, the magnetism of the crowds, the blare
of martial music, the novelty of passing strangers, and, above all, by
the prospect of the great race which, for weeks, had been the theme of
conversation everywhere throughout the section.
In the spacious corridors and big bar-rooms of the city's hostelries the
rich men of the section vied with flashily dressed strangers, in
magnitude of wagers, and the gambling fever spread from these important
centers to the very alleys of the negro quarters. Poor indeed was the
old darkey who could not find two-bits to wager on the race; small,
indeed, the piccaninny who was not wise enough in the sophisticated ways
of games of chance to lay a copper with a comrade or to join a pool by
means of which he and his fellows were enabled to participate in more
important methods of wooing fickle Fortune.
Here and there and everywhere were the piccaninnies from Woodlawn, the
Layson place, crying the virtues of the mare they worshipped and her
owner whom they each and everyone adored, boasting of the wagers they
had made, strutting in the consciousness that ere the moment for the
great race came "Unc" Neb would gather them together to add zest to the
occasion with their brazen instruments and singing. The "Whangdoodles"
were the envy of every colored lad in town who was not of their high
elect, and created, about noon, a great diversion upon one of the main
streets, by gathering, when they were quite certain that their leader
could by no means get at them, and singing on a corner for more coppers
to be wagered on Queen Bess. The shower of coin which soon rewarded
their smooth, well-trained harmonies, burned holes in their pockets,
too, until it was invested in the only things which, on this day, the
lads thought worth the purchasing--tickets on the race in which the
wondrous mare would run.
Through the gay crowd old Neb was wandering, disconsolate, burdened with
the melancholy news of the defection of the miserable jockey, looking,
everywhere, for Miss Alathea Layson, but without success. He stopped
upon a corner, weary of the search and of the woe which weighed him
down.
"Marse Frank," he muttered, "say I war to tell Miss 'Lethe de bad news;
but he didn't tell me how to find a lady out shoppin'. Needle in a
haystack ain't nawthin'! Reckon 'bout de bes' dat I kin do is stand heah
on dis cohnuh an' cotch huh when she comes back to de hotel."
He stood there for fully fifteen minutes, peering in an utter desolation
of woe, at every passing face, but finding nowhere that one which he
sought. Then, at a distance, he saw the Colonel coming. The expression
on the horseman's face amazed him and filled him with an instant hope
that something had turned up to rob the situation of the horror which
had darkened it, for him, ever since he had discovered that the jockey
had disgraced himself.
"Dar come Marse Cunnel," he exclaimed, in his astonishment, "_a-lookin'
mighty happy_! Dat ain't right, now; dat ain't right, unduh de
succumstances."
He hurried to the Colonel, who, instead of seeming sorrowful,
discouraged, wroth, beamed at him with a genial eye.
"What's the matter, Neb?" he asked. "You look like a funeral!"
"Dat's de way I feel, suh; wid no jockey fo' Queen Bess an' Marse Frank
good as ruined."
"Neb," said the Colonel, coolly, "you don't mean to be a liar, but you
are one."
"What?" cried the darkey in delight. "Oh Marse Cunnel, call me anyt'ing
ef tain't so about de mare!"
"Of course it isn't," said the Colonel happily. "I have found a jockey,
Neb; a jockey."
"Praise de Lawd!" cried the old negro.
"One of the best," the Colonel went on, gaily. "Just come in from
the--from the east. I engaged him at once, so you get word to Frank. In
five minutes we'll be on our way out to the track."
Neb's spirits had instantly revived. Six inches droop was gone from his
old shoulders. "It'll be de grandest race eber run in ol' Kentucky!
Lawsy, Cunnel, won't it tickle you to death to see Queen Bess romp in a
winnuh?"
Instantly the Colonel's high elation faded. More than the droop which
had been in Neb's shoulders now oppressed the horseman's. His face
clouded. "There _he_ goes, too!" he cried. "Neb, another word like that
and I shall brain you! Do you hear me? I--I shan't be there!"
"Not be dar!" Neb exclaimed. "Kain't swaller dat, suh. Ef you should
miss dat race, why, you'd drop daid."
"I believe you, Neb--believe you. I say, Neb, look here. I have promised
on the honor of a Kentuckian, never to enter another race-track. I must
keep my word; but, for the Lord's sake, isn't there a knot-hole, that
you know of, somewhere in the fence, which would let me see the race
without going inside?"
Neb knew that race-track as he knew the plot of hard-trodden ground
before the little cabin where he had been born back of the big house out
at Woodlawn. Many a race had he seen surreptitiously when he had not
funds to buy admission to the track. He grinned, remembering talk which
he had heard between the Colonel and Miss 'Lethe, and understanding,
now. He laughed. "Oh, I yi!" he cried. "Marse Cunnel, dar ain't
nobody'll git ahead of you! You bet dar is a knot-hole, not fur off frum
de gran'-stan', neither, an' a tree, too, you could climb, stan's mighty
handy."
The Colonel groaned. "I climb a tree to peek above a race-track fence!"
said he. "No; never. They'd think I was trying to save my admission
fee! The knot-hole will have to do for me, Neb. You've saved me. Heaven
bless you! Have a cigar--they're good."
"T'ankee, suh," said Neb, reaching for the weed the Colonel now held
toward him. "Lawsy, ain't dat jus' a whoppuh? Whah you-all git sech
mon'sous big cigahs as dat?"
"I'm only smoking half as many, now, so I get 'em double size," the
Colonel answered, sighing but not wholly miserable.
Neb did not see the humor of this detail. He was thinking of the race
and of Queen Bess. "Hooray fo' de Cunnel!" he exclaimed, irrelevantly,
to a little group of colored men who had been gathering. "Whatever he
says yo' kin gamble on. Lawsy, ain't I glad I's got my money on Queen
Bess? Golly, won't Marse Holton jes' feel cheap when he done heahs dis
news? Seen him down dar in de pool-room, not so long ago, a-puttin' up
his money plumb against Queen Bess. Goin' to lose it, suah, he will." He
went off, muttering, and shaking his old head. "Somehow I jes' feels it
in mah bones dat he ain't true to Marse Frank, yessuh. If I evah fin's
it out fo' suah, I'll jes' _paralyse_ him!"
He had quite forgotten that he had come out to find Miss Alathea, and
was not looking for her when he actually stumbled into her.
"Why, Neb, what are you doing?" she said, recoiling.
"Pahdon, pahdon, please, Miss 'Lethe," said the negro. "I was thinkin'
of de sweet bimeby an' waitin' fo' to tell de news to you--fust dat Ike
got drunk an' Marse Frank war gwine hab to scratch de mare--"
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Then Frank--why, he'll lose everything!"
"Hol' on, Miss 'Lethe; dat de fust half, only. Secon' half am dat Marse
Cunnel found a jockey an' Queen Bess am gwine ter run."
"Bless his heart!" she cried. "I wonder if it's wrong for me to pray
that that jockey will win." She looked, almost embarrassed at the aged
negro for a moment, and then, mustering up courage, said: "Neb, look
here. I'm ashamed to acknowledge so much interest in a horse-race, but
it seems as if I can't wait to hear of the result."
"Lawsy, I don't blame you, none; feel dat way mahse'f."
"I must know the result the instant the race is decided."
"Send yo' wuhd right off, Miss 'Lethe."
"Oh, I can't wait for that. Neb, I never did such a thing before and
never will again, and, even now, I won't enter a race-track; but, Neb,
isn't there some place outside the fence where I could watch the race
without actually going in?"
Neb doubled up in silent laughter. The old negro was enjoying life,
exceedingly, on this, the day, which, for a time, had seemed so full of
gloom. The white folks were quite at his mercy. "You bet dar is," said
he, "a knot-hole not fur f'm de gran'-stan', an' a tree what you could
climb, right handy."
Miss Alathea was not favorable to the thought of climbing trees, and
said so. "No, no; the knot-hole will be far better for me."
"But, Miss 'Lethe, why, de Cunnel--"
She did not let him make his explanation. "Sh! Sh!" she hissed. "Not a
word of this to him, or anyone! Will you show me, when the time comes?"
"Oh, I'll show you," Neb replied, and before he had a chance to add a
word she had hurried off into the crowd.
"I war gwine to tell her dat de Cunnel'd be dar, too, but she wouldn't
wait to heah. Wal, I reckon she'll jes' fin' 'im when she git dar."
Down the street his piccaninny band came straggling, looking for him.
"Hol' on, chillun; hol' on," he cried, and joined them. "Now yo' lissen.
Yo' is not to make a squawk until the end of de Ashlan' Oaks. Yo's to
sabe yo' bref to honuh ouah Queen Bess. If she wins, yo' staht in
playin' 'Dixie' as yo' nevuh played afo'. If she loses yo's to play,
real slow an' mo'nful, 'Massa's in de Col', Col', Groun'.'"
In the meantime the Colonel, in a quiet spot, had joined the jockey who
had been discovered to take the place of drunken Ike. The unknown rider
was wrapped closely in an ulster, from beneath which riding boots,
unusually small, peeped, now and then, as the feet within them moved
somewhat nervously about.
"All right, are you?" he inquired.
"I ain't afeared," the jockey answered, "but I'm powerful nervous. Never
had on clo'es like these before, an'--don't you look at me!"
Strange talk, this was, for the jockey who was soon to ride Queen Bess
for the capture of the Ashland Oaks and the salvation of the fortune of
the house of Layson!
"Don't look at you!" said the Colonel, in expostulation, and, in the
next sentence, revealed a secret which he was guarding carefully from
everyone. "See here, little girl, you've got to face thousands and not
wince, and you can't ride in that overcoat, either."
But the jockey wrapped the coat still tighter. "Oh, sho! That can't make
no differ--just a little coat!"
"I tell you it's impossible. It would give the game away at once. Come,
take it off. Practice up on me."
The jockey shivered nervously. "Reckon I will hev to. Say, turn your
back till I am ready."
The Colonel turned his back, somewhat impatiently. The time was getting
short. "All right, but hurry up."
The jockey pulled the long coat partly off, then, in a panic, shrugged
it on again. "Oh, now, you're lookin'!"
"Not a wink," declared the Colonel.
"Wal, here goes!" This time the coat came wholly off and the jockey who
had been discovered to take the place of drunken Ike stood quite
revealed. The voice which warned the Colonel of this was a faint and
faltering one. "Now," it said timidly.
The Colonel turned. "Hurrah!"
The jockey held the coat up in a panic.
"See here, now--none o' that!" the Colonel warned. "Give it to me." He
reached his hand out for the coat, and, reluctantly, the jockey let him
take it.
There stood the trimmest and most graceful figure ever garbed in racing
blouse, knickers, boots and cap, with flushed face, dilating, frightened
eyes and hands not a little tremulous. The girl who had told Barbara
Holton that she would not hesitate to make a sacrifice to save the man
she loved was making one--a very great one--the sacrifice of what, her
whole life long, she had considered fitting woman's modesty. Queen Bess
must win and there was no one else to ride her. The mountain-girl shrank
from the thought of going, thus, before a multitude, as shyly as would
the most highly educated and most socially precise girl in the
grand-stand, near, which, now, was filling with the gallantry and
beauty of Kentucky; but she did not let her nervous tremors conquer her.
There was no other way to save the day for Layson, and, somehow, the day
must certainly be saved.
The Colonel, now, spoke very seriously as she stood there, shrinking
from his gaze. There was not a smile upon his face. It was plain that he
regarded the whole matter with the utmost gravity.
"Now, little one, you begin to realize what this means," said he.
"Or--no, you don't and I've got to be square with you if it spoils the
prettiest horse-race ever seen in old Kentucky. I tell you, my dear
child, we're mighty particular about our women, down here in the
bluegrass. We'd think it an eternal shame and a disgrace forever for one
of them to ride a public race in a costume like the one that you have
on, and it would mean not less than social ruin to the man that married
her. If anyone should find it out, what you are going to do might stand
between you and your happiness. I'm warning you because I know I ought
to. Think it over and then tell me if you're willing to face it--willing
to take all the risks."
"I don't need to think it over," Madge said firmly. "I said as I'd gin
up my happiness to save him, an' I will. Colonel, I've got on my
uniform, I've enlisted for th' war, an' I am goin' to fight it through!"
"A thoroughbred!" he cried. "A thoroughbred, and I always said it of
you. Come on, little one."