GAY TRIUMPHANT
In a spirit of pure mischief Gay had invited Lossie Holden to
accompany her and Chris Hannen to see Silver Streak's début, and they
drove the short distance from the station to Waterloo Park in
excellent spirits, Gay all impatience to see her horse trot, and
Chris as interested as he could ever be in anything outside his own
stable.
Lossie was entirely out of sympathy with Gay's natural excitement;
all sporting tastes were low, she considered, and Trotting quite the
lowest of them all. She could not understand a woman possessing the
healthy, out-door instinct--a girl's first duty, she considered, was
to herself, and her time was much better employed in making herself
as attractive as possible in the eyes of men, than in sharing their
rude pursuits. Man was woman's lawful spoil, and for her part she
quite understood why the "manly woman" remained a spinster, and by
not attracting, failed in her mission in life.
In this, as in other matters, Lossie's view was too narrow to be
correct, for she could not separate Gay, with her healthy love for
horses, and dogs, and an open-air life, from the muscular,
loud-voiced, corsetless Amazons who are so frequently much better
athletes than men, and well able to protect the lady-like creatures
in breeches they usually marry.
Chris noticed the contrast between the two girls especially that day,
Gay, looking the picture of health, and thoroughly alive in her plain
tweed frock, her workman-like gloves, and stout boots, intent on a
good day's sport, and exulting in the part she was to play, and
Lossie, "dressed to kill," with her bored, petulant air, tilting her
nose (a very pretty nose, too, Chris had to admit), whenever a
fly-load of "mellow" Trotting men galloped past.
Arrived at the course, Chris obtained a race-card that they were busy
discussing, when a hearty voice called out at Gay's elbow:
"How are you, Miss Gay? Well, I _am_ glad to see you again."
Gay turned to see Min Toplady, and while she took in the opulent
splendours of her attire, with a delighted side-glance she caught the
disgusted look on her cousin's face.
"Dear old Min!" she cried, embracing her old friend heartily, then
with a quick, mischievous glance at Chris, she dragged the somewhat
flustered Min up to where stood Lossie Holden, a supreme figure of
elegant disdain. "Why, Lossie, surely you've not forgotten Min
Toplady, my dear old nurse," cried Gay. "All my friends are Min's
friends, aren't they, Chris?"
"Of course," he replied, with difficulty keeping his countenance, so
tickled was he by Lossie's, then raising Min's tightly-gloved hand to
his lips, respectfully kissed it. "Min and I are old pals, and I
really think she's beginning to quite approve of me at last?" he
added with twinkling eyes.
"Oh, you'll do, Mr. Chris," Min said, laughing, "until you break your
neck with your silly jumping." She was very quick, and knew that the
young man's instant ranging of himself on her side was due to
Lossie's frigid acknowledgment of her presence.
"Well, Miss Gay," said Min reproachfully, "I've been expecting you to
look me up at the 'Trotting Nag,' Camberwell--I always tell Bob it
was the name of our 'pub' that started us at the Trotting game--but
you'll be more than welcome when you _do_ find time."
Gay promised eagerly that she would come soon, and Carlton Mackrell
appearing at that moment, they split up into groups, he remaining
with Lossie Holden, who regarded with horror the progress of the
others to Min's wagonette, where, with exaggerated gusto, Gay
assisted Chris to partake of sherry and sandwiches.
"She don't alter much," said Min, glancing at the distant Lossie, now
exercising all her fascinations on Carlton, but when Gay with her
usual generosity urged that Lossie did not have much of a time, Min
interrupted her majestically.
"Don't make no excuses for her, Miss Gay; what she always was as a
mite she is now. I've got her weighed up to an ounce, my dear, and
if she's a _real_ friend of yours, and not a spiteful, jealous cat,
I've made a mistake, and I don't make many among my own sex, if I
_did_ make a bloomer when I took up with my old man--" And she
beamed upon the enormous and delighted Bob, who had just come up, and
acknowledged the soft impeachment with a prodigious smile.
"There goes the bell for the horses to get on the track for the first
heat; let's go into the enclosure, and watch the 'plugs' go round,"
cried Gay, and off she and Chris went together, Gay running back for
a moment to give Min a "tip."
"Mr. Mackrell thinks my horse will win his heat and the
final--Brusher Tugwood drives, and he knows the horse. He's very
sweet on his chance. Mind you back ours, Min dear, and tell your
friends to 'help themselves,' as they say."
The first heat over, Gay and Chris went off to the stables, Carlton
Mackrell and Lossie joining them. Mackrell studied his card as they
went along.
"You are sure to win your heat," he said, "and the time of your
horse, and the other two heat winners, will tell us what chance you
have in the final, but according to the conditions of the race, I
think it's a good thing for you."
Chris smiled. He had seen too many "good things" come undone, though
in this case there were no fences in the way, he reflected.
They arrived at the stables in time to watch Brusher Tugwood put the
finishing touches to Silver Streak's toe weights. The horse looked
splendid, and Gay's brand new colours--blue and white hoops--showed
up brilliantly in the wintry sun.
Gay walked beside her driver while he led the horse to the track
gates.
"This _is_ a good thing, isn't it, Tugwood?" she inquired anxiously.
"I do so want to win the first time out, you know, though I oughtn't
to expect it," she added.
"We shall win all right, miss," Tugwood assured her. "Do you pop
into the ring and back me as if money--or price--was no object." He
climbed into his perch, and turned on to the track, where he let
Silver Streak stride along at about half-speed.
By the time Gay and the others had got back to the stand, the second
bell had rung, and the horses were jockeying on their marks for a
start. Gay had invested, through Carlton Mackrell, a couple of
pounds on her horse for the driver, Tugwood, and the odds of four to
one were obtained.
She would not bet herself. "I don't approve of regular betting," she
said; "besides, I shall get five pounds if I win this heat, and fifty
pounds, actually fifty golden sovereigns"--she clapped her hands and
laughed as if she had never seen so much money before--"if Silver
Streak wins the final as well!"
Bang went the pistol, and the horses were off.
"You've won it now," Carlton Mackrell said quietly, his eyes showing
his appreciation of the consummate skill of Tugwood in getting off
like lightning, and almost in his stride.
Though they had to go three rounds for the mile and a half, the value
of a good beginning was soon made obvious as Silver Streak swooped
down on the horses in front of him approaching the first bend. Along
the back stretch he improved to third place, and though the leader
was thirty yards and more to the good there, Carlton Mackrell knew
that Silver Streak's driver was only biding his time, and would win
comfortably, without distressing his horse with a view to the final.
"I do believe he will win!" Gay cried breathlessly, as the horses
passed the stand, the same one leading, while Silver Streak and a
pacing mare called Mrs. Wiggs were racing side by side.
"No doubt of it," Carlton Mackrell assured her. "Let me congratulate
you."
Gay laughed rather nervously.
"Thank you," she said, "but not yet. Oh, look, there's
something--Mrs. Wiggs, isn't it?--that's passing Silver Streak now.
Why doesn't Tugwood go after her?"
The apparent catastrophe occurred on the back stretch approaching the
turn. Chris, looking on, noticed it, and prayed that Mrs. Wiggs
could not sustain the effort. He saw, too, that the pair had
considerably decreased the leader's advantage.
"It's all right," Carlton Mackrell declared. "Tugwood will make his
effort--an easy one, too--directly they get into the third lap."
And so it proved. Mrs. Wiggs' advantage was only temporary, and
directly Tugwood asked Silver Streak to catch the leader, he did so
in decided fashion, and Gay breathed a sigh of joy and relief as
Tugwood put the issue beyond doubt fifty yards from the box, and
jogged in, a two-lengths winner, in 3.36 from scratch.
"Oh! I'm so glad!" Gay exclaimed, and indeed she looked radiant, and
altogether adorable, as she received from the two men congratulations
so warm that Lossie's silence was quite overlooked.
The beauty was quite out of her element, and took no pains to hide
the fact. How Gay _could_ mix with such awful people she did not
understand, and she registered a vow that this was the first and last
visit she would pay to Waterloo Park, or any other of the Trotting
Meetings.
It was adding insult to injury, too, for Gay to openly show her
friendship with that vulgar person, Min Toplady. She looked angrily
in the direction of the carriages, where the "vulgar person's" purple
gown refused to be overlooked, and Min was clearly in _her_ element
as she dispensed hospitality with a lavish hand, while Bob conducted
an earnest conversation with a professional driver.
"What's the matter, Lossie?" Gay inquired suddenly. "I'm afraid
you're not enjoying yourself."
Chris and Carlton Mackrell exchanged glances, both prepared for the
same reply.
"No, I'm not," she said positively. "What you can see in this
rabble, and travesty of sport I'm sure _I_ don't know--I mean,"
suddenly remembering, and turning a dazzle of blue eyes and smiles
upon Carlton Mackrell, "from a woman's point of view, of course. I
quite understand the fascination driving your own horses has for you,
Mr. Mackrell, but I can't admit that it's quite a nice thing for a
girl--" But she spoke to unheeding ears, for he had divined Gay's
wish that he should take her to the stables, and when he suggested
it, she went with him eagerly.
Leaving Lossie and the unwilling Chris together, they made their way
through the Ring, Mackrell drawing ten pounds from his bookmaker, who
begged him "not to do it again." Her original stake of two pounds
Gay put in her pocket, tightly clutching the remainder in her little
fist.
They found Tugwood assisting a lad to rub Silver Streak down, and
highly pleased with himself. He magnificently waved Gay's
outstretched hand containing the eight pounds away.
"Leave it all down, miss, please," he said; "put the lot on our 'oss
for the final. We shall win outright now, for the best field was
behind me in the first heat. You understand the market 'ere, sir,
don't you?" he asked Carlton Mackrell, "so don't forget to distribute
the money among the bookies. A quid 'ere, an' a couple there, you
know, sir, though you won't get such a nice price again. It's
wonderful 'ow they pinch the price for a heat winner for the final."
Together Gay and Carlton watched the next four heats, Gay taking
particular interest, naturally, in the heats which concerned her
race, and when the horses turned out for the eventful final, Carlton
Mackrell walked down the rails to speak to Tugwood, for he had seen
something in the second heat that he knew would be valuable knowledge
to the driver, and this he told him. He had barely time to get back
to the stand before the bell rang to announce the start. But Silver
Streak did not get off so well this time, and for the first circuit
of the course only improved two places. Passing the stands he was
fourth, the heat winners and two fastest losers being qualified to go
in the final, and Gay's expressive face looked the picture of despair
as the horses sped past to the turn.
"He'll never catch the leaders," she exclaimed; "they're all going
well, faster than they went in their heats, it seems to me. Whatever
does Tugwood keep looking round at that crimson jacket behind him
for? I don't see any sense in it; it's those in front he has to
beat, not that one."
Carlton Mackrell laughed.
"He's doing what I told him," he answered. "The crimson jacket is
the real danger. Look!"
As if to prove his words, the pacer mentioned suddenly increased his
speed in a great effort to pass Silver Streak. Tugwood instantly
responded, and a great race for supremacy began between the pair.
The terrific speed they were going at, took them past first one
leader and then another, while from the enthusiasm among the
spectators on the stands, it was apparent that they regarded the race
as a match between Silver Streak and the crimson jacket.
Rounding the home bend into the straight in the last lap, there were
still three in it--the trotter which had led throughout, Silver
Streak, and the pertinacious crimson jacket. Each driver was doing
all he knew, but Tugwood had the inside position, which he kept with
a bit to spare, thus compelling the other two to go wide at the turn,
and Carlton Mackrell and Chris both appreciated his fine and
legitimate driving.
A great race ensued up the straight, all three horses' names being
shouted in turn, each exhorted by their respective backers to "go on."
Amid a storm of cheers and encouragement the three flashed past the
box, but Carlton Mackrell, from his intimate knowledge, knew that the
one, two, Tugwood had given Silver Streak a few yards short of the
judge, had done the trick, and snatched a bare victory.
Gay was trembling with excitement, while even Lossie sufficiently
forgot herself to stand on tiptoe to watch the number board.
"It's all right," Carlton Mackrell announced. "He's putting No. 3 in
the frame, and that's yours. Won by a neck, I should say, all out,
in 3.32½."
Gay heaved a deep sigh, and then they all went on to the track, and,
after Tugwood had dismounted, accompanied Silver Streak in a body to
the stables.
The crowd gave Gay a hearty cheer as she passed the Ring, and this
completed her cup of bliss. Min Toplady showered congratulations on
her, and was so pleased that she actually smiled at Lossie, hastily
composing her face the moment she realised the mistake.