WHICH WON?
Never in the history of the Lee races had there been such an exciting
scene as this. Jay Gardiner's face is as white as death, as, with bated
breath, he watches the two thorough-breds. Every one rises to his feet
in the hope of catching a full view of the flyers.
Which will win the race--the great Robin Adair or the gallant little
Queen Bess?
The mad shouts are deafening.
Suddenly they notice that Robin Adair, who has been victor in a dozen
such races, begins to show signs of distress. The foam covers his dark
chest, and his eyes flash uneasily. It is all that his rider can do to
urge him on with whip and spur.
There is only one more furlong to cover. Robin Adair and little Queen
Bess are side by side, neck to neck, both increasing their speed with
every stride.
Suddenly Robin, the great Robin Adair, falters ever so slightly. The
seething mass of men and women hold their breath. Then, quick as a
flash, as if shot from a bow, gallant little Queen Bess passes him. A
great cry breaks from the vast multitude of spectators. One instant
later, and the cry has deepened into a mighty yell. Little Queen Bess,
with every muscle strained, passes under the wire--a winner!
The next instant she is hidden from sight by the eager thousands who are
crowding and pushing one another to catch a glimpse of the winner. Jay
Gardiner stands for a moment as if dumbfounded. He is hardly able to
credit the evidence of his own senses.
"Queen Bess had won!" cried the golden-haired girl by his side, and he
answers a hoarse--"Yes."
The girl laughs, and the sound of that laugh lingers in his memory all
the long years of his after-life.
"And I have won!" she adds, shrilly.
Again he answers, in that same hoarse monotone--"Yes!"
Before he has time even to think, Sally Pendleton turns around to her
father and mother, crying triumphantly:
"Mamma--papa, Mr. Gardiner wants me to marry him. My hand is pledged to
him; that is, if you are willing!"
The young man's face turned as white as it would ever be in death.
The effect of her words can better be imagined than described. Mr.
Pendleton stared at his daughter as though he had not heard aright.
Mrs. Pendleton was dumbfounded. And Louise--poor Louise!--to her it
seemed as if life had ended for her.
Mr. Pendleton recovered himself in an instant. He had been quite sure
that Mr. Gardiner preferred his elder daughter Louise to his younger
daughter, merry, rollicking Sally.
"I am sure, I am very well pleased," he said, heartily extending his
hand to Mr. Gardiner. "Certainly I give my consent, in which my wife
joins me."
Jay Gardiner's face flushed. He could not make a scene by refusing to
accept the situation. He took the proffered hand. Mrs. Pendleton rose to
the occasion.
"If he prefers Sally, that is the end of it as far as Louise is
concerned. Sally had better have him than for the family to lose him and
all his millions," she thought, philosophically.
Jay Gardiner's friends congratulated the supposedly happy lovers. Louise
spoke no word; it seemed to her as though the whole world had suddenly
changed; her golden day-dreams had suddenly and without warning been
dispelled.
During that homeward ride, Jay Gardiner was unusually quiet. His brain
seemed in a whirl--the strange event of the afternoon seemed like a
troubled dream whose spell he could not shake off, do what he would.
He looked keenly at the girl by his side. Surely she did not realize the
extent of the mischief she had done by announcing their betrothal.
It was not until he had seen his party home and found himself alone at
last in his boarding-house that he gave full rein to his agitated
thoughts.
It was the first time in the life of this debonair young millionaire
that he had come face to face with a disagreeable problem.
Gay, jolly Sally Pendleton, with her flashing get-up--a combination of
strangely unnatural canary-yellow hair, pink cheeks and lips, and
floating, rainbow-hued ribbons--jarred upon his artistic tastes.
He did not admire a girl who went into convulsions of laughter, as Sally
did, at everything that was said and done. In fact, he liked her less
each time he saw her. But she was young--only eighteen--and she might,
in time, have a little more sense, he reflected.
What should he do? He looked at the matter in every light; but,
whichever way he turned, he found no comfort, no way out of the dilemma.
If he were to explain to the world that the engagement was only the
outcome of a thoughtless wager, his friends would surely censure him for
trying to back out; they would accuse him of acting the part of a
coward. He could not endure the thought of their taking that view of it.
All his friends knew his ideas concerning honor, particularly where a
lady was concerned.
And now he was in honor bound to fulfill his part of the wager--marry
Sally Pendleton, whom he was beginning to hate with a hatred that
startled even himself.
Such a marriage would spoil his future, shipwreck his whole life, blast
his every hope. But he himself was to blame. When that hoidenish,
hair-brained girl had made such a daring wager, he should have declined
to accept it; then this harvest of woe would not have to be reaped.
Suddenly a thought, an inspiration, came to him. He would go to Sally,
point out to her the terrible mistake of this hasty betrothal, and she
might release him from it.