Chapter III: "trotting Versus Racing."

"Are you still of the same mind about Trotting?" Carlton Mackrell asked Gay as they sat at the dainty, rose-lit table of the dining-room in Connaught Square a few nights later.

"Why, of course!" Gay said reproachfully. "I _never_ change my mind once it's made up, do I, dear?" and she appealed to her brother.

The Professor looked at her with his soup spoon poised between his plate and his mouth.

"_Never_ is a very positive statement," he said, "but I think you are fairly consistent when you have made up what you are pleased to _call_ your mind, Gay."

Carlton Mackrell glanced at the girl, then at her brother, and smiled.

What a contrast these two were, to be sure! Gay, so full of life, and fun, and spirits, bent on finding and enjoying all the good things of the world, without a care, apparently, and her brother, a prematurely aged, dry-as-dust specimen, with no ambition whatever beyond his musty books, and test-tubes, and things, and with a precision of thought and speech that must surely get on Gay's nerves terribly!

Doubtless the man had his good points, but it was an axiom of Carlton's, that unless a person's virtues struck one at once, life was too short to waste in trying to discover them. As a practical man about town--and there is no finer school for the observation of character than cosmopolitan society--he had learnt to "size-up," as he expressed it, a man on sight, and only on rare occasions had to acknowledge to a mistake.

"I wonder how you came to take up Trotting, Mr. Mackrell? It's much safer, don't you think, than 'chasing?'" said Gay, as she helped herself from a dish handed by a particularly pretty parlour-maid. "Mr. Hannen _loves_ it--but gets more hard knocks than ha'pence. After a more than usually crushing 'downer,' in which his head suffered most, he was warned last year by an eminent specialist that another tap on the same spot would probably prove fatal--" She paused abruptly as the Professor nodded.

It would be hard to explain how his nod expressed the opinion that another such fatality would be well deserved, but it did, and Gay's eyes flashed whole volumes of indignation that did not escape Carlton--he loved a woman of spirit.

"I don't think I ever told you of my first real introduction to Trotting, and how it came about?" he said, breaking a rather strained silence, and Gay shook her head, while the Professor, with some ostentation, devoted himself to his dinner.

"I found myself at Southend, the place where the mud is, you know, and having nothing to do one afternoon--did you speak, sir?" as his host muttered something _sotto voce_ about Satan and idle hands, and Carlton at once decided to inflict on the spoil-sport Professor, the punishment of hearing the whole story to the bitter end. He was rewarded by a delighted gleam in Gay's eye, as he imperturbably proceeded.

"I heard some Trotting races were on, and thought I'd go and see them. While watching the toilet of a horse about to run--or trot, a horsey-looking individual spoke to me, and though I had never set eyes on him before, he appeared to know me perfectly."

The Professor coughed. If ever a cough said "birds of a feather," his did then, but Carlton ignored it.

"'Good-day, Mr. Mackrell,' said the unknown, pulling his cap, 'and what might you be doin' at _this_ game?' I liked the look of the old chap, somehow--he was fairly long in the tooth, I must tell you--so I explained that having nothing to do, I had come to see the Trotting. 'I think,' said my unknown, 'as I can do you a bit o' good 'ere this afternoon. There's a 'orse goin' to be sold after the second race to-day--owner's taken the merry rat-tat, you see, sir--an' if you can get 'im for anything below seventy quid, _buy_ 'im. I've been Trottin' an' drivin' 'em a good many years now, an' I know all about this 'orse. 'E's sound in wind an' limb, an' money wouldn't buy 'im if it wasn't a case of couldn't 'elp it, _'ad_ to.'"

Gay laughed, highly amused. "Well?" she said, while the Professor, with the air of a god in the clouds, who leans over to observe the absurd antics of the human ants below, resignedly helped himself to more salad.

"Of course," Carlton continued, "I recognised 'the tale' when I heard it, and naturally supposed my new-found friend had an axe to grind, but his next remark disabused my mind."

"'I shan't get nothin' out o' the deal, guv'nor,' he said. 'You'll pay yer brass straight over to the auctioneer, an' I don't suppose 'e'll give me anything if you buy the 'orse, any more than if anyone else did--an' somebody _will_ if you don't watch it, though there ain't much money 'ere to-day,' looking at the crowd disparagingly. 'This 'orse is in the last race, the open, with thirty-five quid to the winner, an' 'e can win it too, off the mark 'e's got to-day.'

"Well, to cut a long story short," Mackrell went on, dexterously combining enjoyment of a good dinner with his recital, "I _did_ buy the horse for sixty-five guineas, and there I was, landed with probably a bad bargain--though I liked the make and shape of him, mind you, but with no earthly idea what to do with him."

"Marry in haste, repent at leisure," said the Professor. "I mean----" But Carlton did not stop to inquire what the Professor meant, only Gay realised that the "conversion" she had hoped for was far away.

"Well, my unknown again came to the rescue.

"'Borrow a sulky off of the man you bought 'im from,' he advised. ''E'll lend it yer, for 'e's a sport--that's why 'e's taken the knock, I shouldn't wonder,' he added reflectively. Sure enough, the late owner of my purchase lent me his sulky, and he and my friend harnessed the horse to it for me when his race came on. Imagine my astonishment when the horsey-looking man put a whip into my hand, and said, 'Up you git, sir, an' drive the old boiler yourself. All _you_ are to do is to sit where you are, an' leave 'is 'ead alone. 'E'll do the rest, an' you'll win as far as from 'ere to London.'"

"Which was not _much_!" flashed Gay mirthfully.

"I expressed considerable doubt as to the success of this plan, you may be sure," Mackrell went on, "but the man would take no denial, and before I knew where I was, I had received the promise of a driver's licence from the Committee, and permission to begin then and there, and was on my mark, bewildered with the counsellings of my mentor.

"'This 'orse 'as forgotten more about Trottin' than you'll ever know, guv'nor,' he said. 'Just sit still, and leave the rest to 'im. And look 'ere, you're goin' to back 'im, of course?' I handed over a five pound note, and my man darted off to the Ring with it, returning before we were off. 'I've got Sevens'es to your bit,' he told me. '_Don't_ look at me--get as near yer mark as you can, and keep on the move.'"

"But you had time to jump off!" cried the Professor, his voice rising to a squeal of excitement.

"At that moment the bell rang," went on Carlton, "and my horse shot forward, and got into his stride at once, followed by shouts to me of, 'Don't pull 'im about, for Gawd's sake! Give 'im 'is 'ead!'"

Carlton stopped to laugh.

"It was not a case of _giving_," he said, "the horse took it--and my arms as well, all but. However, I did as I was told, and we won pretty easily by a length, though I was indeed a 'passenger' on that trip! Directly after the race, my friend rejoined me.

"'Well done!' he said, 'though I thought you was goin' to fall out round that last bend.' He patted the horse affectionately. 'Wot did I tell yer?' he asked. ''Ere's yer money--forty quid. Now see what yer can buy this sulky for,' and he dragged me over to the owner of it. Enquiry elicited the fact that five pounds would buy it. My mentor whispered in my ear, 'Offer to toss 'im eighty or nothin',' he said; 'yer luck's in to-day, guv'nor, an' 'e's a sportsman.' I proposed this plan, and it was accepted. I won, and so found myself the possessor of a good Trotting horse, the winner of a race, plus thirty-five pounds in bets, and the owner of a sulky--nearly new--and all for a fiver!"

"How ripping!" exclaimed Gay, "and how lucky!"

"Most remarkable," the Professor concurred dryly. "It was your monetary good fortune, then, that decided you to make a hobby of Trotting?"

Carlton looked the Professor over as if he were some disagreeable specimen.

"Chiefly, I think, because I saw an opportunity of following the advice of Miss Gay, who had advised me to take up a hobby."

Gay nodded eagerly.

"Shortly after, I bought some more horses, and have had no reason to regret it--they have won a good few races, and just about paid their way. I've got my eye on the chief Trotting Prize--Champion Vase they call it"--he turned to Gay--"this year, and I think I shall go very close for it."

"How I should love to win that!" Gay cried eagerly. "Do you think I could buy anything good enough to have a chance too?"

"You're flying at high game for a beginner," laughed Mackrell, "but if you're really in earnest"--Gay nodded emphatically--"I'll keep my eyes open, and let you know if I hear of anything. You will have to give a stiffish price for a 'green' or unexposed horse with a record of 2.20 trotting or 2.10 pacing, probably about four or five hundred pounds."

The Professor gave a startled, hurried glance at his sister. He regarded all money spent on anything but comfort, and books, which ranked certainly before necessaries with him, as thrown into the gutter.

His and Gay's modest stable arrangements were limited when in town--for she only hunted in the country--to a handsome mare that she drove in a smart Ralli car, and which attracted no particular attention save as being driven by a pretty girl, except when the Professor accompanied her.

Then, clutching in an unsportsmanlike way at the reins, shutting his eyes at dangerous crossings, and screaming out impossible directions to which Gay turned a deaf ear, his antics convulsed all beholders, and made her blush for shame.

"Of course," she said, not surprised by any means at the price Mackrell mentioned, "I know good horses cost money, and that I can't win anything with bad ones. By the way, what happened to your friend who made you buy your first horse?"

"I took him home with me," Carlton Mackrell replied, "and installed him as my trainer. His name is Tugwood, and I found out that he had had great experience of training and driving Trotters; twenty-five years of it, in fact, both in America and here. He is still with me, and drives when I am unable to do so myself, which is not often, happily. Of course you will want a trainer--"

"Can you find me one?"

"I think so"; but he did not tell her that he meant to transfer "Brusher" Tugwood to her as the most trustworthy man he knew, and in whose hands her horses would be treated as carefully and as jealously as were his own.

"It's awfully interesting," said Gay with a sigh. "How I wish I were a man, to be able to go about, and get some of these experiences. Nearly all amusing, aren't they?"

"Mostly," Carlton Mackrell replied, crumbling his bread thoughtfully, "though a few are sad, and many sordid."

He went away that night, knowing that he should have kicked himself for a sweep in encouraging Gay in her new passion, for the scales had already fallen from his eyes as regarded Trotting, but, doting on the girl as he did, her wish was law to him, while the prospect of getting her to himself while Chris was racing elsewhere, was too great a temptation to resist.

And after all, why should she not have her fling? She could afford it, and the time she put in with the noxious Professor must be dull enough in all conscience.

When at last, excited and happy, Gay betook herself to bed, she dreamed of new records created by her horses, and saw her sideboard covered with cups, king over which reigned the Blue Riband of Trotting, the Champion Gold Vase.