"I say, young gentlemen, this young pippin tells me he's got a father
who says it's wrong to swear. What do you think of that?"
"His father must be an amusing man," replied Gus.
"Wait till we get on to the course," said Margetson; "he'll hear
something to astonish him there, young prig!"
"I'm not going to the races!" cried my master, starting from his seat,
and now fully alive to the fraud of which he had been made the victim.
"How could you do this, Tom Drift! Let me down, will you!" and he
struggled so desperately with Belsham that that gentleman was obliged to
let go the reins in order to hold him.
Of course it was no use his resisting. Amid the shouts and jeers of his
schoolfellows he was held on to the box. In vain he pleaded, besought,
struggled, threatened; there he was compelled to stay, all through
Gurley and out to the racecourse. Here he found himself in the midst of
a yelling, blaspheming, drunken multitude, from the sight of whose faces
and the sound of whose words his soul revolted so vehemently that it
lent new vigour to his exhausted frame, and urged him to one last
desperate struggle to free himself and escape from his tormentors.
"Look here," said Belsham to Gus; "if you suppose I'm going to have all
my fun spoiled by looking after this cub of yours while you're enjoying
yourselves there inside, you're mistaken; here, look after him
yourselves."
So saying, he dragged Charlie from his seat and swung him down into the
waggonette with such force that he lay there half stunned and incapable
of further resistance, and so for the time being saved his persecutors a
good deal of trouble.
And indeed had it been otherwise it is hardly likely they would have
just then been able to pay him much attention, for at that moment the
horses were all drawn up at the starting-post, waiting for the signal to
go.
That was a feverish moment for Tom Drift. He had bet all his money on
one horse, and if that horse did not win, he would lose every penny of
it.
As usual, he had repented a hundred times of that day's business, and
the last brutal outrage on poor Charlie had called up even in his seared
breast a fleeting feeling of indescribable shame. It was, alas! only
fleeting.
Next moment he forgot all but the horses. There they stood in a long
restless line. A shout! and they were off. In the first wild scramble
he could catch a sight of the colours on which his hopes depended near
the front. On they came like the wind. A man near shouted the name of
Tom's horse--"It's winning," and Tom's head swam at the sound. On still
nearer, and now they have passed. In the retreating, straggling crowd
he can see his horse still, but it seems to be going back instead of
forward. Like a torrent the others overhaul and pass it. Then a louder
shout than usual proclaims the race over, and the favourite beaten, and
Tom staggers down to his seat sick and half stupid.
"Never mind, old man," he heard Gus say, "luck's against you this time;
you'll have your turn some day. Take some of this, man, and never say
die."
And Tom, reckless in his misery, took the proffered bottle, and drank
deeply.
It was late in the afternoon before Belsham thought of turning his
horse's head homeward, and by that time Charlie, on the floor of the
waggonette, was slowly beginning to recover consciousness.