Chapter VIII: Gay Triumphant

In a spirit of pure mischief Gay had invited Lossie Holden to accompany her and Chris Hannen to see Silver Streak's début, and they drove the short distance from the station to Waterloo Park in excellent spirits, Gay all impatience to see her horse trot, and Chris as interested as he could ever be in anything outside his own stable.

Lossie was entirely out of sympathy with Gay's natural excitement; all sporting tastes were low, she considered, and Trotting quite the lowest of them all. She could not understand a woman possessing the healthy, out-door instinct--a girl's first duty, she considered, was to herself, and her time was much better employed in making herself as attractive as possible in the eyes of men, than in sharing their rude pursuits. Man was woman's lawful spoil, and for her part she quite understood why the "manly woman" remained a spinster, and by not attracting, failed in her mission in life.

In this, as in other matters, Lossie's view was too narrow to be correct, for she could not separate Gay, with her healthy love for horses, and dogs, and an open-air life, from the muscular, loud-voiced, corsetless Amazons who are so frequently much better athletes than men, and well able to protect the lady-like creatures in breeches they usually marry.

Chris noticed the contrast between the two girls especially that day, Gay, looking the picture of health, and thoroughly alive in her plain tweed frock, her workman-like gloves, and stout boots, intent on a good day's sport, and exulting in the part she was to play, and Lossie, "dressed to kill," with her bored, petulant air, tilting her nose (a very pretty nose, too, Chris had to admit), whenever a fly-load of "mellow" Trotting men galloped past.

Arrived at the course, Chris obtained a race-card that they were busy discussing, when a hearty voice called out at Gay's elbow:

"How are you, Miss Gay? Well, I _am_ glad to see you again."

Gay turned to see Min Toplady, and while she took in the opulent splendours of her attire, with a delighted side-glance she caught the disgusted look on her cousin's face.

"Dear old Min!" she cried, embracing her old friend heartily, then with a quick, mischievous glance at Chris, she dragged the somewhat flustered Min up to where stood Lossie Holden, a supreme figure of elegant disdain. "Why, Lossie, surely you've not forgotten Min Toplady, my dear old nurse," cried Gay. "All my friends are Min's friends, aren't they, Chris?"

"Of course," he replied, with difficulty keeping his countenance, so tickled was he by Lossie's, then raising Min's tightly-gloved hand to his lips, respectfully kissed it. "Min and I are old pals, and I really think she's beginning to quite approve of me at last?" he added with twinkling eyes.

"Oh, you'll do, Mr. Chris," Min said, laughing, "until you break your neck with your silly jumping." She was very quick, and knew that the young man's instant ranging of himself on her side was due to Lossie's frigid acknowledgment of her presence.

"Well, Miss Gay," said Min reproachfully, "I've been expecting you to look me up at the 'Trotting Nag,' Camberwell--I always tell Bob it was the name of our 'pub' that started us at the Trotting game--but you'll be more than welcome when you _do_ find time."

Gay promised eagerly that she would come soon, and Carlton Mackrell appearing at that moment, they split up into groups, he remaining with Lossie Holden, who regarded with horror the progress of the others to Min's wagonette, where, with exaggerated gusto, Gay assisted Chris to partake of sherry and sandwiches.

"She don't alter much," said Min, glancing at the distant Lossie, now exercising all her fascinations on Carlton, but when Gay with her usual generosity urged that Lossie did not have much of a time, Min interrupted her majestically.

"Don't make no excuses for her, Miss Gay; what she always was as a mite she is now. I've got her weighed up to an ounce, my dear, and if she's a _real_ friend of yours, and not a spiteful, jealous cat, I've made a mistake, and I don't make many among my own sex, if I _did_ make a bloomer when I took up with my old man--" And she beamed upon the enormous and delighted Bob, who had just come up, and acknowledged the soft impeachment with a prodigious smile.

"There goes the bell for the horses to get on the track for the first heat; let's go into the enclosure, and watch the 'plugs' go round," cried Gay, and off she and Chris went together, Gay running back for a moment to give Min a "tip."

"Mr. Mackrell thinks my horse will win his heat and the final--Brusher Tugwood drives, and he knows the horse. He's very sweet on his chance. Mind you back ours, Min dear, and tell your friends to 'help themselves,' as they say."

The first heat over, Gay and Chris went off to the stables, Carlton Mackrell and Lossie joining them. Mackrell studied his card as they went along.

"You are sure to win your heat," he said, "and the time of your horse, and the other two heat winners, will tell us what chance you have in the final, but according to the conditions of the race, I think it's a good thing for you."

Chris smiled. He had seen too many "good things" come undone, though in this case there were no fences in the way, he reflected.

They arrived at the stables in time to watch Brusher Tugwood put the finishing touches to Silver Streak's toe weights. The horse looked splendid, and Gay's brand new colours--blue and white hoops--showed up brilliantly in the wintry sun.

Gay walked beside her driver while he led the horse to the track gates.

"This _is_ a good thing, isn't it, Tugwood?" she inquired anxiously. "I do so want to win the first time out, you know, though I oughtn't to expect it," she added.

"We shall win all right, miss," Tugwood assured her. "Do you pop into the ring and back me as if money--or price--was no object." He climbed into his perch, and turned on to the track, where he let Silver Streak stride along at about half-speed.

By the time Gay and the others had got back to the stand, the second bell had rung, and the horses were jockeying on their marks for a start. Gay had invested, through Carlton Mackrell, a couple of pounds on her horse for the driver, Tugwood, and the odds of four to one were obtained.

She would not bet herself. "I don't approve of regular betting," she said; "besides, I shall get five pounds if I win this heat, and fifty pounds, actually fifty golden sovereigns"--she clapped her hands and laughed as if she had never seen so much money before--"if Silver Streak wins the final as well!"

Bang went the pistol, and the horses were off.

"You've won it now," Carlton Mackrell said quietly, his eyes showing his appreciation of the consummate skill of Tugwood in getting off like lightning, and almost in his stride.

Though they had to go three rounds for the mile and a half, the value of a good beginning was soon made obvious as Silver Streak swooped down on the horses in front of him approaching the first bend. Along the back stretch he improved to third place, and though the leader was thirty yards and more to the good there, Carlton Mackrell knew that Silver Streak's driver was only biding his time, and would win comfortably, without distressing his horse with a view to the final.

"I do believe he will win!" Gay cried breathlessly, as the horses passed the stand, the same one leading, while Silver Streak and a pacing mare called Mrs. Wiggs were racing side by side.

"No doubt of it," Carlton Mackrell assured her. "Let me congratulate you."

Gay laughed rather nervously.

"Thank you," she said, "but not yet. Oh, look, there's something--Mrs. Wiggs, isn't it?--that's passing Silver Streak now. Why doesn't Tugwood go after her?"

The apparent catastrophe occurred on the back stretch approaching the turn. Chris, looking on, noticed it, and prayed that Mrs. Wiggs could not sustain the effort. He saw, too, that the pair had considerably decreased the leader's advantage.

"It's all right," Carlton Mackrell declared. "Tugwood will make his effort--an easy one, too--directly they get into the third lap."

And so it proved. Mrs. Wiggs' advantage was only temporary, and directly Tugwood asked Silver Streak to catch the leader, he did so in decided fashion, and Gay breathed a sigh of joy and relief as Tugwood put the issue beyond doubt fifty yards from the box, and jogged in, a two-lengths winner, in 3.36 from scratch.

"Oh! I'm so glad!" Gay exclaimed, and indeed she looked radiant, and altogether adorable, as she received from the two men congratulations so warm that Lossie's silence was quite overlooked.

The beauty was quite out of her element, and took no pains to hide the fact. How Gay _could_ mix with such awful people she did not understand, and she registered a vow that this was the first and last visit she would pay to Waterloo Park, or any other of the Trotting Meetings.

It was adding insult to injury, too, for Gay to openly show her friendship with that vulgar person, Min Toplady. She looked angrily in the direction of the carriages, where the "vulgar person's" purple gown refused to be overlooked, and Min was clearly in _her_ element as she dispensed hospitality with a lavish hand, while Bob conducted an earnest conversation with a professional driver.

"What's the matter, Lossie?" Gay inquired suddenly. "I'm afraid you're not enjoying yourself."

Chris and Carlton Mackrell exchanged glances, both prepared for the same reply.

"No, I'm not," she said positively. "What you can see in this rabble, and travesty of sport I'm sure _I_ don't know--I mean," suddenly remembering, and turning a dazzle of blue eyes and smiles upon Carlton Mackrell, "from a woman's point of view, of course. I quite understand the fascination driving your own horses has for you, Mr. Mackrell, but I can't admit that it's quite a nice thing for a girl--" But she spoke to unheeding ears, for he had divined Gay's wish that he should take her to the stables, and when he suggested it, she went with him eagerly.

Leaving Lossie and the unwilling Chris together, they made their way through the Ring, Mackrell drawing ten pounds from his bookmaker, who begged him "not to do it again." Her original stake of two pounds Gay put in her pocket, tightly clutching the remainder in her little fist.

They found Tugwood assisting a lad to rub Silver Streak down, and highly pleased with himself. He magnificently waved Gay's outstretched hand containing the eight pounds away.

"Leave it all down, miss, please," he said; "put the lot on our 'oss for the final. We shall win outright now, for the best field was behind me in the first heat. You understand the market 'ere, sir, don't you?" he asked Carlton Mackrell, "so don't forget to distribute the money among the bookies. A quid 'ere, an' a couple there, you know, sir, though you won't get such a nice price again. It's wonderful 'ow they pinch the price for a heat winner for the final."

Together Gay and Carlton watched the next four heats, Gay taking particular interest, naturally, in the heats which concerned her race, and when the horses turned out for the eventful final, Carlton Mackrell walked down the rails to speak to Tugwood, for he had seen something in the second heat that he knew would be valuable knowledge to the driver, and this he told him. He had barely time to get back to the stand before the bell rang to announce the start. But Silver Streak did not get off so well this time, and for the first circuit of the course only improved two places. Passing the stands he was fourth, the heat winners and two fastest losers being qualified to go in the final, and Gay's expressive face looked the picture of despair as the horses sped past to the turn.

"He'll never catch the leaders," she exclaimed; "they're all going well, faster than they went in their heats, it seems to me. Whatever does Tugwood keep looking round at that crimson jacket behind him for? I don't see any sense in it; it's those in front he has to beat, not that one."

Carlton Mackrell laughed.

"He's doing what I told him," he answered. "The crimson jacket is the real danger. Look!"

As if to prove his words, the pacer mentioned suddenly increased his speed in a great effort to pass Silver Streak. Tugwood instantly responded, and a great race for supremacy began between the pair. The terrific speed they were going at, took them past first one leader and then another, while from the enthusiasm among the spectators on the stands, it was apparent that they regarded the race as a match between Silver Streak and the crimson jacket.

Rounding the home bend into the straight in the last lap, there were still three in it--the trotter which had led throughout, Silver Streak, and the pertinacious crimson jacket. Each driver was doing all he knew, but Tugwood had the inside position, which he kept with a bit to spare, thus compelling the other two to go wide at the turn, and Carlton Mackrell and Chris both appreciated his fine and legitimate driving.

A great race ensued up the straight, all three horses' names being shouted in turn, each exhorted by their respective backers to "go on."

Amid a storm of cheers and encouragement the three flashed past the box, but Carlton Mackrell, from his intimate knowledge, knew that the one, two, Tugwood had given Silver Streak a few yards short of the judge, had done the trick, and snatched a bare victory.

Gay was trembling with excitement, while even Lossie sufficiently forgot herself to stand on tiptoe to watch the number board.

"It's all right," Carlton Mackrell announced. "He's putting No. 3 in the frame, and that's yours. Won by a neck, I should say, all out, in 3.32½."

Gay heaved a deep sigh, and then they all went on to the track, and, after Tugwood had dismounted, accompanied Silver Streak in a body to the stables.

The crowd gave Gay a hearty cheer as she passed the Ring, and this completed her cup of bliss. Min Toplady showered congratulations on her, and was so pleased that she actually smiled at Lossie, hastily composing her face the moment she realised the mistake.