THE ESCAPADE
Acting on Carlton's advice, Gay did not enter her horses for
Blackpool, Glasgow, Liverpool, Belfast, or Leeds; the Irish Meetings
were of course out of the question with so small a stable, so that
she was practically limited to three Meetings within easy reach of
town.
"It was," as he privately expressed it to himself, "merely a
flirtation with Trotting, not playing the game itself," and he hoped
that like other ill-advised flirtations, it would die a natural
death. Though he honestly believed that Trotting had a future in
England if properly managed, he had most unwillingly come to the
conclusion that Chris was right, and though it furnished a healthy
amusement for a great number of cheery, happy people, under existing
conditions it was decidedly neither his, nor any young girl's
_milieu_.
No doubts whatever troubled Gay, who was thoroughly enjoying herself,
and two days before the meeting at Waterloo Park, at which Silver
Streak was to carry her colours for the first time in public, she
succeeded in effecting what she had set her heart on, viz., the
driving by herself at exercise of one of her horses.
With her usual incorrigible frankness she unfolded her plan to the
Professor at luncheon, much to his horror and disgust.
"Can you not be content to be a spectator," he asked, "instead of
participating actively in a sport (he pronounced the word with venom)
which Lossie tells me claims as its closest adherents publicans and
tradesmen? A nice thing it would be to find your butcher or
fishmonger careering round the course beside you, encouraging you
with shouts and cries such as are practised on all race-courses, or
so I am informed, for I have never visited one. I deeply deplore
this unhappy infatuation, but, as usual, my wishes are ignored," he
concluded huffily.
"Don't be a prig, Heron," said Gay carelessly. "You can't help being
a muff, I suppose, or Lossie a sneak, but for father's sake--and a
better sportsman never breathed, as you know well enough--_do_ try to
take a little interest in sport, even if you refuse to participate,
as you elegantly express it. To hear you talk, one would think you
were employed by the Anti-Everything-Healthy-League, and that you had
a special mission to fulfil in saving everybody's soul--at the
expense of his body, of course! It's enough to make the poor old dad
turn in his grave to hear you go on as you do. If he were alive,
he'd be the very first to back me up."
She glanced at the clock, and jumped up.
"Time and trains wait for no man," she said. "Run off to your
laboratory, old chap, but before you go, give me a kiss--and your
blessing."
She stood up on tip-toe to meet the Professor's chaste salute,
imprinted somewhere in the neighbourhood of her ear.
"Expect me when you see me," she said maliciously as she made for the
door, "and don't be surprised if I return in pads. There's sometimes
an accident at Trotting, you know."
The Professor ambled towards her, shaking his head apprehensively,
but Gay was half-way upstairs. She had only just time to catch her
train, and would get down to Inigo Court by half-past three, with
time enough to give the horses their work out round the track.
Tugwood had promised to borrow a speed wagon of a different pattern
for her to drive in, for her disregard of public opinion did not go
to the length of perching on a seat the size of a soup plate, with
her legs stuck out on either side of the horse, which was the usual
mode of progression.
On the journey down, she read the _Trotting World_, a journal devoted
to the interests of the sport, and was delighted to find a paragraph
about herself and Trotters in it.
"If a few more people of Miss Lawless' and Mr. Carlton Mackrell's
class and position could be induced to patronise Trotting," she read,
"the sport would soon assume its proper standing, and become, as in
America, a national pastime."
Gay walked briskly along the country road leading to Inigo Court, and
made her way to the stables. There she found Tugwood in Silver
Streak's box, the horse already harnessed, and ready to be put to the
wagon.
"Horses all right, Tugwood?" Gay asked, pulling on her driving
gloves--thick bus-driver's gloves they were, bought on Carlton
Mackrell's recommendation.
"Never better, miss, thank'ee. Silver Streak don't want too much
work to-day, with 'is race so near, an' 'e's pretty fit. I 'ad 'im
out early this mornin', just to work off any stiffness 'e might 'ave
after a good spin against the watch yesterday. A mile easy at
'arf-speed, at a three-minute gait, is about all 'e wants now."
Gay laughed.
"I hope I shall be able to steady him," she said. "He does 'take
hold' a bit sometimes, doesn't he?"
"On'y when 'e's racin', miss. 'E don't like to see nothin' in front
of 'im. I expect you'll be surprised at the pace 'e goes, an' think
'e's runnin' away. But 'e ain't really, you know," he added
reassuringly; "'is manners is too good to bolt with anybody, let
alone a lady."
He chuckled at his joke as he helped Gay into the wagon, which was a
boat-shaped Benjamin, weighing 46 lbs., the body much like the seat
of an outrigger boat, with rounded ends to break the wind.
She made a very pretty picture as she sat in the wagon, excitement
and the bloom of health showing in her face. As Tugwood led the
horse on to the track, in accordance with instructions, she slipped
her wrists through the loops in the reins, and planted her feet
firmly against the foot-rests.
"Don't be nervous, miss," Tugwood urged. "Just keep a nice steady
hold on 'im, an' keep in the middle of the track. Time enough to
think of cuttin' the corners when you know more about it."
Gay had no intention of cutting the corners, and devoutly hoped that
Silver Streak had none either, as Tugwood stepped to one side.
"Jog him, miss," he said, "and gradually let 'im out."
Gay did as she was told. Silver Streak "got into his stride" with a
suddenness that was a little disconcerting, ready as she thought she
was for it, and the wagon shot forward, while her arms felt as though
they were being pulled from their sockets.
Shifting her position as soon as she had recovered her balance, she
hung on to the reins like grim death, and steered for the middle of
the track, as Silver Streak was evincing a partiality for the rails
that spelled probable disaster at the bend, unable as she was to
balance him properly.
The horse stretched himself out to his work in grand style, and
before they had rounded the first turn, Gay felt convinced he was
running away. The pace was tremendous, while the wind whistled past
her ears and made her face smart with its force. She took a pull at
the horse after the way she had seen drivers do when pulling up after
a "brush," before a race started, but at once felt the uselessness of
it, and was not surprised when Silver Streak pulled back, though his
pull was of considerably greater strength than hers, and resulted in
another temporary loss of balance, this time nearly over the
dash-board.
The horse's hind feet were much too close to be pleasant, and she
earnestly hoped he would not cast a shoe, which, for a certainty,
must fly into her face, or so it seemed. Along the back stretch she
cast a glance in Tugwood's direction, half expecting to see him
brandishing his arms, or covering his eyes to avoid seeing her
untimely end, but no such view met her gaze. On the contrary, he was
leaning over the rails in an attitude that betokened an easy mind,
and as she turned her head, he clapped his hands repeatedly, thus
conveying to her the reassuring news that she was doing well.
She negotiated the home-bend nicely, though by this time her arms had
begun to ache in earnest, and her breathing was not so regular and
easy as on foot. Now her natural fears had subsided, she felt that
she was having the time of her life, and disregarding her trainer's
instructions, actually encouraged Silver Streak to go faster. This
the horse did, and made the pace a cracker on the second circuit,
though even then he was by no means going his fastest.
Approaching the spot where Tugwood was holding up his hand as a
signal to stop, she took another pull at Silver Streak, but with as
little result as before. Another pull, but with a like effect--the
horse was evidently enjoying himself, and intended to complete
another circuit. Gay's horrified look as she sped past, sitting back
as far as she could, and hauling at the reins, brought a smile to
Tugwood's face.
"Finds it ain't quite so easy as it looks," he said to himself,
though with no anxiety, but as the wagon bore towards him again, he
opened the gate leading to the stables, and walked down the track
with outstretched arms to meet it.
Silver Streak saw him, and pricked his ears, at the same time slowing
down till he dropped into a walk almost on the top of his trainer.
Gay heaved a little sigh of relief as they turned off the track. She
was quite numbed with the cold, and her feet felt like lumps of lead,
while her hands shook violently from the strain, as she disengaged
them from the reins, and jumped to the ground.
"That was ripping!" she said, stamping her feet.
Her voice sounded catchy, which was not to be wondered at after so
much excitement, crammed into such a short time.
"I hope the extra lap won't hurt him, Tugwood?"
"Not a bit of it, miss. Why, 'e wasn't goin' fast enough to keep
'imself warm at any time. You didn't do the first mile in much under
three minutes, I'll be bound."
"Well," said Gay, "I've never travelled so fast before in my life,
behind a horse, anyhow. I wonder what the excitement of a race must
be like?"
A mad idea to dress up as a man, and drive at the next Meeting
flashed across her mind, but she dismissed it as altogether
impracticable. Besides, it had been done before--in books,
anyway--and Gay was nothing if not original.
"'Ow do you like drivin', miss?" Tugwood inquired, as he led Silver
Streak back to his box.
"It's splendid!" Gay replied enthusiastically, "but it _does_ make
your arms ache, doesn't it? Mine feel all on fire now."
"Ah, that always 'appens to a beginner," the trainer explained
indulgently. "You'll get the better o' that after a few more turns,
and learn to take a nice steady hold, just to feel his mouth, instead
of hanging on like grim death. I suppose you won't drive Maudie
to-night, miss? It's rather late, an' just on doin'-up time."
"Oh, very well, I won't, then," the girl answered, "but you must not
think I am afraid, you know, because I'm not."
"No fear o' that from one of _your_ stock, miss. I've heard tell of
your father, an' a better plucked 'un with 'osses never lived. I'm
always to be found here, miss, so if you'll drop me a line any time
you want a drive, I'll be waitin' for you."
With the promise of a speedy return, Gay took her departure, quite
unaware that there had been an interested spectator of her work on
the track, in the person of Mr. Rensslaer, who by accident was
passing. He occasionally used the track in private for trying a
horse when too far from his own place, and happening to look over the
hoarding which enclosed the course, had seen Gay driving Silver
Streak in his wagon, of which Tugwood had begged the loan.
The sight had greatly amused him, and as she passed, he ducked his
head, afraid of "scaring" the girl, for he saw at a glance that she
was a complete novice at the game, though he expressed himself
emphatically and aloud on her performance.
"Now, that's what I call real sporting," he exclaimed, standing up in
his wagon to get a better view, though even then his head barely
reached the top of the hoarding.
"Wonder who she is?" he soliloquised. "I'll go in, and inquire of
Tugwood when she's finished her work out. Mighty pretty girl,
anyway, though she don't look altogether as if she's enjoying
herself. That's a nice pure-gaited one she's driving--for England."
At the conclusion of the spin, and after Gay had left the place,
Rensslaer continued his drive, turning in at the park gates, then
made his way round to the stables, where Brusher Tugwood, hearing the
approach of hoofs, left Silver Streak's box, and came out into the
yard to see who it was.
His grim old face relaxed into a respectful smile, and he pulled at
his cap as the new-comer sprang out of his road wagon, looped up his
reins, and adjusted a horse-cloth with the quick dexterity of the
professional.
Tugwood waited for developments, looking inquiringly at the powerful,
straight-hipped horse in the wagon, and Rensslaer was quick to follow
his glance.
"That's old 'Marvel Girl,'" he volunteered, and gave her pedigree;
then immediately, keen enthusiasts both, they fell to talking and
comparing notes of doings on both sides of the Atlantic, Rensslaer
walking Tugwood restlessly up and down, the idea of his original
quest quite vanishing from his mind.
"By the way," he said, suddenly remembering it, as he drew the
"cooler" off his waiting horse and folded it up, "who is that young
lady I saw going round the track a while ago in my wagon?"
"That was my young mistress, Miss Gay Lawless, sir, and very kind it
was of you to humour her with the loan of that wagon; she couldn't
have done what she was so dead set on else. It was 'er first drive,
though where you see it from, I don't know, sir."
"So that was Miss Lawless, was it?" Rensslaer said thoughtfully.
"I've heard the name only just lately. There was something in the
_Trotting World_ about her, and some horses she had bought. It is a
surprise to me to find a lady patronising Trotting."
"Well," said Tugwood, not desiring to typify his mistress as the
example that proved the rule, "I shouldn't wonder if before long we
don't 'ave a duchess trottin' 'orses under our Rules, the same as
they do under the Jockey Club," but his tone lacked conviction.
"I suppose you know Mr. Carlton Mackrell, then," pursued Rensslaer,
who himself did, and foresaw through him an introduction to Gay.
"Know 'im, sir? I should think I did indeed," the trainer assured
him. "Why, it was me as introduced Mr. Mackrell to Trottin'," and he
drew himself up proudly.
"Been fairly successful too, hasn't he?" Rensslaer inquired.
"Remarkably so, sir, I'm pleased to say," said Tugwood, bridling,
"though I says it as shouldn't, seein' as 'ow I've 'ad the trainin'
of his 'osses till quite lately. I left Mr. Mackrell to come to Miss
Lawless, you see, sir, an' I 'ope to be as successful for 'er as I
was for 'im, though of course Miss Gay 'as only just started, so to
speak. I expect to 'ave a winner for 'er at the next meetin' 'ere,
sir--that 'oss you see goin' roun' just now. Silver Streak 'is name
is. Come an' 'ave a look over 'im."
Together they entered the horse's box, where Tugwood proceeded to
recount Silver Streak's performances before he came into his charge.
"A nice horse," commented Rensslaer, "though I should call him too
good-looking. Quite a picture compared to my mare outside, isn't
he?" indicating with a jerk of his head the rough-and-ready-looking
animal in the wagon. Certainly Silver Streak was more of the
race-horse stamp than the trotter, and the expert shook his head as
he looked him over from all points.
"Not a record-breaker, I think," he opined, "and what is his best
time?"
"Two-twenty on this track, sir," the trainer said, "though I think I
can improve 'im a lot on that time. In fact, Miss Gay thinks of
enterin' 'im for the Champion Vase, an' though I won't go so far as
to say he'll win it, some of the others will know they've been racin'
before they're done. There's some good 'osses with form be'ind 'em
waitin' with a view to that race. Demonstrator's one of 'em, an' Mr.
Mackrell's Billy Q., wot won at the last meetin' 'ere, is not out of
it by a long way. From what I know of that 'oss--an' I trained 'im
for all 'is races--'e'll very near win it. Whatever beats 'im will
win any'ow," he concluded.
"Well, we shall see," replied Rensslaer. "I must be off now, but
you'll see me again before long. What did you say Mr. Mackrell's
present address was?"
Tugwood did not remember having mentioned it, but he replied:
"The Bachelors' Club will find 'im, sir, though I shouldn't wonder if
'e don't 'ave to resign there afore long from wot I can see of it,"
he added to himself, but Rensslaer heard him as he climbed into his
wagon and drove off.
Tugwood, left alone, shook his head gloomily. His late visitor's low
estimate of English horses annoyed him by its assurance; he also
resented the slur Rensslaer cast on the sport by abstaining from it
in England, while practising it in most of the big capitals of
Europe. A fine sportsman, with one of the finest, if not _the_
finest, stable of Trotters in the world, he was the very man to
elevate and establish the sport firmly here, and it was with a sense
of depression that Tugwood gave Silver Streak his evening feed, and
remained to watch the horse eating it up.