GAY DISGRACES HERSELF
There was no time to warm up the horse; she had to trot down fast to
her mark, overshot it some forty yards, and swung her horse round in
a hurry, spurting to get up to her mark, as she saw "Uncle's" back
with upraised pistol.
It was fortunate she did so, as at that moment the pistol went off,
and she was at top speed on to her mark as the pistol was fired,
Mackrell's horse being at a standstill at the same mark (they were
both scratch mark horses, you may remember), she having the outside
position.
Mackrell's horse was into his stride in a moment, however; Gay and
Mac raced side by side after the leaders. There were, of course,
only four horses in this final, one of the leaders being the old
ex-American hobbled pacer, Birmingham Joe, who had 200 yards' start
of Gay and Mac, the fourth horse being the trotter Our Tom, with 150
yards' start.
Gay's and Mackrell's horses trotted side by side like a pair, rapidly
overtaking the two leaders, but Gay could see out of the corner of
her eye that Mackrell was holding his horse, and could at any time
draw clear of her if he liked.
At the turn he pulled slightly back, and let her take the inside, and
there came an ominous jeer from the spectators when they saw him
giving way, instead of keeping the advantage he had gained. The
moment, however, they were round the turn, he drew up level again on
the outside, when suddenly his horse made a most disastrous break (a
horse noted for never breaking), and every time Mac tried to catch
him, he went off into a worse break, till finally he cantered in a
long way last, the horse refusing to trot.
Gay, of course, saw nothing of this, she only knew that Mackrell's
horse had suddenly fallen back, and that she was gaining hand over
hand on the trotter Our Tom in front. She passed him as she went
round the track the second time, and calling on her horse, she saw
him stretch out his neck still further, and lower himself till he
seemed inches lower than his proper height, whilst he began to sway
his head slightly from side to side, as he reached his utmost in each
stroke.
She swept round the last turn but one at such speed that she found
she must keep her eyes fixed on her horse's ears, as the least glance
to the side made her feel giddy, and as if she would lose her
balance, and now she got up with the pacer in the hack stretch, who
was wobbling along in the regular third-rate pacer style, instead of
moving almost as upright as a trotter, as Hettie C. the pacer did
earlier in the day.
A really perfect-gaited pacer has very little roll in its gait, and
if seen from the side could not be distinguished from a trotter
except by an expert, but poor old Birmingham Joe was labouring along
like a channel boat in a south-wester, and his hobbles were singing
from the strain like an æolian harp. It was this strain, and the
fact that poor old Birmingham Joe's master had _everything_ old
(including the horse), which won Gay the race.
The sulky was an old heavy metal one, made in England years ago, the
hobbles had been patched and mended till little of the original
hobbles remained, and as the two horses came neck and neck (Gay on
the outside) round the last turn, the æolian sound of the hobbles
changed to a sudden rending crash, and old Birmingham Joe turned a
complete somersault, pitching his driver over his head, and landing
on top of him, the hobbles having broken.
Gay jogged in a winner in 3.35, a second faster than her horse had
ever trotted before, and whilst the driver of Birmingham Joe was
carried in on a stretcher with a broken leg, Mackrell finished on a
canter last of all, amidst the yells of his backers, that alternated
with loud cheers for Gay Lawless.
In these cheers neither Lossie nor the Professor joined. They had
not understood what Rensslaer meant when he had suddenly appeared
beside them, and hurried Gay away. They had hardly understood what
it meant when after a considerable delay (for they were at some
distance from the stables) they had seen a woman's shape in a Faber,
driving rapidly towards the track, and when in the first round Gay
had swept by close to them, looking extraordinarily pretty and
determined, her little feet planted firmly on the rail before her,
eyes wide with excitement and courage, the Professor had all but
fallen down in a fit, while Lossie rejoiced--even Carlton Mackrell's
affection could hardly survive that.
On all sides kodaks had flashed; indeed in the event, nearly every
illustrated paper made a scandalous feature of a sight common enough
in Vienna. Min Toplady alone of the women clapped her hands, and
cheered at the top of her voice; but the excitement now over, Gay
herself felt shaky, and more than half inclined to burst into tears.
Even the presentation to her of the Gold Vase was by no means the
ecstacy she had expected. It was by a desperate effort that she held
her head up, spoke her thanks, smiled, and marched away with
Rensslaer, who tucked the Vase under his arm as if used to such
ridiculous impedimenta, and took her straight to her brother,
followed by the cheers of the lookers-on, in which a nice ear might
detect a certain note of familiarity. Possibly she detected it, but
was quite unaware that Carlton was about having a very bad quarter of
an hour, called as he had been before the Stewards, for an
explanation of his extraordinary driving.
He declared that his horse lost a toe weight at the first turn, which
caused him to break, and he could not, or would not settle
afterwards, and when the horse was examined, it was seen that the
near toe weight was missing.
While the discussion was still going on, one of the distance judges
brought in the toe weight, and also the screw which held it, but
instead of the screw being broken, or the threads worn, it was seen
that the screw had only a head, and very short shank, and that the
latter showed marks of its having quite recently had the end of the
screw shank filed off, so that there was only a head, and a little
bit of shank.
The blacksmith who was employed at the trotting track said that
Mackrell borrowed a file of him before the final heat, and being
curious as to what he wanted it for, he followed him at a distance,
and saw him filing something behind a tree, after which he went to
screw on his horse's toe weights.
The blacksmith went behind the tree and picked up the half of a screw
(the point end), which he produced, and it corresponded to the screw
which Mac's horse had lost with his toe weight.
Result--expelled from ever driving in the Clubhouse, and outlawed
forever.
Mackrell bowed, and withdrew with perfect _sang-froid_. He had
pulled off what he intended, and if Gay had been made happy by
getting what she wanted, he did not in the least grudge the price he
had paid. But when he joined, or rather intercepted, her on the way
to the gates, he found a pale, almost tearful Gay, and one glance at
the Professor's and Lossie's faces convinced him that they had been
baiting her cruelly, in spite of Rensslaer, who cool and
imperturbable as ever, walked beside her.
"Hearty congratulations, Gay!" Mackrell cried, taking her hand. "It
was the best done, pluckiest thing I ever saw in my life, and the
Gold Vase is yours."
Gay controlled her voice to thank him, but Rensslaer shot a quick
glance at the other's face--he had, of course, seen Mackrell's game
from the first, and was also aware of that summons to the Stewards'
room, to which there could only be one issue.
"I am astonished," said the Professor in quavery tones, "astonished
and shocked at your congratulating my sister on the disgraceful,
unwomanly exhibition she has just made of herself, and for which I am
to blame, in not having put my foot down on this degrading sport from
the first."
"Oh! put it down," said Carlton, who looked very handsome and
determined, "and keep it there if you like. _I'm_ going to take Gay
home, and the quieter she is kept the better"--he turned on Lossie
Holden a glance beneath which she quailed--"so you can travel back as
you came, with the Professor."
He put Gay as he spoke into a waiting carriage, seated himself beside
her, and drove off, Rensslaer having handed to Gay her coveted trophy.
"I believe," said the Professor, "that the indecency on wheels in
which my unfortunate sister drove was your property, Mr. Rensslaer,
and as she could not possibly have used it without your consent, I
imagine it was at your suggestion she did so."
"You're right there," said Rensslaer encouragingly, "and I'm proud to
know my Faber's been of use to the nicest, pluckiest girl, bar none,
I've seen in England."
"Anyway," cried the Professor, trembling with rage, "I shall make it
my business to see that she has no opportunity of disgracing herself
and me again," and seizing Lossie's arm, he hurried her away.