A TICKLISH MOMENT
Tom Bulteel, red-faced, blue-eyed, taciturn, with Gay beside, and his
wife and Rensslaer behind him, tooled his bays down to the next
Trotting Meeting, and tried to look as pleasant as the character of
the big crowd and unwonted surroundings permitted. The attendance
was a record one, the front of the track thronged with people, while
the number of conveyances of all kinds, from waggonettes to
nondescript traps, was altogether phenomenal, for it was the
expectation of seeing Miss Lawless drive again, and also the
possibility of Rensslaer doing so, that had brought down a strong
contingent of the press. A multitude of snapshotters attended her
every look and movement, those, however, who expected an Amazon,
found a pretty, modest little girl, very quietly dressed, under the
powerful ægis of the well-known Captain and Mrs. Bulteel, and the
boisterous half-cheer of greeting from the Ring that broke forth at
sight of her when the coach swept up, was somehow never finished.
Probably if Rensslaer had not been present at her recent new
departure, and displayed such an obvious interest in her, no
particular scandal would have attached to it, and Gay's driving
herself been regarded merely as the bold freak of a free-and-easy
young lady, who went in for a free-and-easy sport, and as such
applauded. But his close attendance had focussed public attention
upon her, inclining an eager trotting world to the belief that she
had converted him to her views, and that shortly he would bring his
enormous experience, superb driving, and splendid cattle to the
sport, thereby giving it a tremendous leg-up. But in this also, as
in Gay's case, they were disappointed, for neither then, nor at any
subsequent time, did Rensslaer repeat his performance on the Gold Cup
day.
Min Toplady was there, and greeted Gay with effusion when the latter
went over to speak to her, but nervously, too, for those "snapping
fiends," as she called them, who pursued Gay everywhere, more than
ever brought home to Min the conviction that this Trotting business
was a hideous mistake on the part of so young a girl, and that Gay's
daring escapade had cheapened, and inflicted a distinct loss of
prestige on her. Thanks, however, to the countenance afforded by
Captain Bulteel and his wife, as they made a tour of the track, she
was everywhere received with a silence that passed for respect,
instead of the familiar badinage that Min dreaded, though if Gay
appeared to notice nothing, she was really having a very bad quarter
of an hour, and longing for it to be over.
Just before the second race, she and Rensslaer strolled quietly down
to the rails to investigate the cause of a long delay, which was
really owing to the drivers all jockeying for a good start, when the
face of a little man in orange, driving a handsome pacer, suddenly
became such a vivid study in emotions of fear, astonishment, and
horror, as made Gay glance quickly at her companion for an
explanation.
"It is only that he thought me in Paris," said Rensslaer drily, "so
is driving my private sulky that I keep here for occasional use," and
Gay's face changed as she thought of that delicious unlawful drive of
hers, when Brusher Tugwood had, unknown to her, borrowed Rensslaer's
wagon, and its owner by accident had seen her, and so a new and
delightful friendship had come into her life.
Anyway, her mania had not been all loss--and then, as much against
his will, owing to false starts, the guilty little man passed, and
repassed them, a fresh expression on his face every time, and all
intensely diverting, Gay laughed more heartily than she had done for
days past.
"What will you do to him?" she inquired, wiping her eyes, when at
last the horses had started, the lightness and grace of Rensslaer's
wagon showing in favourable contrast to the clumsy make of the
English ones, but he only shook his head; she knew well enough he
would do nothing.
They leaned forward, watching the race, and soon it was apparent that
a collision was inevitable, as the man in the orange jacket unfairly
overhauled the leader; the next moment, the wheels of both sulkies
locked, and the driver of the one "fouled," fell heavily on the track.
"Badly hurt, I'm afraid," said Rensslaer, and Gay turned pale as she
saw through her glasses the faces of the crowd that had closed round
the prostrate man. Almost at the same moment, a cheer rang out, for
the driverless horse decided to race on his own account, pacing past
in grand style, and going much better on his own, than when under
control. It really was a remarkably pretty sight as he went round
the course four times at the rate of 2.40 a mile, before he caught a
wheel, and was easily stopped.
"There's nothing to beat it, really," exclaimed Gay with some of her
old enthusiasm, for she honestly thought a trotter or pacer going his
fastest, a far greater example of the poetry of motion than a
racehorse. "But do go and find out if that poor fellow is very much
hurt. It was a bad day for you when you came out, my little man,"
she remarked to herself as Rensslaer departed--"first to be caught,
then to 'foul' and half-kill your rival"--for soon she saw a sad
little procession winding away, and Rensslaer returned to tell her
that the driver's injuries were very serious, and that he was on his
way to a local hospital.
This damped Gay's spirits. She thought of Chris, began to think that
she brought bad luck, and even her excellent prospects for the next
race did not cheer her, though in the event her expectations were not
justified.
The start was bad, and Gay's pacer went to a break, losing probably
fifty yards. Miss Letty brought the field along for the first half
at a merry gait, and Old Joker drew up to her, while Gay's horse was
a long way behind. In the last quarter of a mile he stepped a
terrific gait, and in spite of so much ground to make up, he looked
to have a chance, but one hundred yards from the finish he went to a
break, and Old Joker gained the verdict.
Winner's gait per mile, 2.20, as Gay saw by the stop-watch on her
wrist that Rensslaer had secured for her (similar to those used by
the judge and starters), which by pressure on a button, registers the
exact number of seconds in which a race is won, also the time taken
by the second horse.
Suddenly, as Gay watched her man place a cooler, with her monogram in
the corner, over the horse and sulky, completely covering both, a
great distaste, disgust even, for her surroundings seized her. All
the bubbling joy that had attended her new pursuit right up to the
time of winning the Gold Vase, was completely quenched in her, and
Chris's indignant protests against Mackrell's encouraging her in so
unsuitable a pursuit rang in her ears, as she moved about with
Rensslaer, snapshotted here, stared out of countenance there, though
with nothing worse than a tentative remark occasionally addressed to
her by Trotting habitués, who regarded her probably as one of
themselves.
"Better luck next time, miss," smirked one obviously public-house
gentleman, but Rensslaer did not resent the freedom as Mackrell on
her account would have clone. She had always been quick to note that
he evinced no distaste when claimed in acquaintance by common persons
in the crowd, who seemed to look up to him with almost supernatural
admiration, and once again Gay admired the simplicity of the man, the
entire absence of "side" that distinguished him, in whatever company
he found himself.
Luncheon was taken on the coach, and Gay's second race, in which
Maudie T. was successful, coming on soon after, it was comparatively
early when Tom Bulteel headed his bays for town.
"Thank God that's over!" he thought with a sigh of relief, for
disagreeable as the duty was, at least his presence, and that of his
wife, had effectively saved Gay from overt impertinence, and the
running fire of chaff to which only a coster-lady would have been
equal in reply.