Part 86 (2/2)
”What are the odds against the colt, Drake?”
Drake answered, and Glory recalled herself from her studies and said, ”Oh, yes, what did you say it was?”
”A prohibitive price--for you.” said Drake.
”Nonsense! I'm going to do a flutter on my own, you know, and plunge against you.”
It was explained to her that only bookmakers bet against horses, but the gentleman with the beard volunteered to reverse positions, and take Glory's ten to one against Ellan Vannin.
”In what?”
”Oh--h'm--in thick 'uns, of course.”
”But what is the meaning of this running after strange G.o.ds?” said Drake.
”Never mind, sir! Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, you know----” and then the bell rang for the race of the day, and they scurried back to the Stand. The numbers were going up and a line of fifty policemen abreast were clearing the course. Some of the party had come over from the coach, and Lord Robert was jotting down in a notebook the particulars of betting commissions for his fair companions.
”And am I to be honoured with a commission from the Hurricane?” he asked.
”Yes; what's the price for Ellan Vannin?”
”Come down to five to one, pretty lady.”
”Get me one to five that he's going to lose.”
”But what in the world are you doing, Glory?” said Drake. His eyes were dancing with delight.
”Running a race with that old man in the box which can find a loser first.”
At that moment the horses were sent out for the preliminary canter and parade before the royal stand, and a tingling electrical atmosphere seemed to come from somewhere and set every tongue wagging. It seemed as if something unexpected was about to occur, and countless eyes went up to the place where Drake stood with Glory by his side. He was outwardly calm, but with a proud flush under his pallor; she was visibly excited, and could not stand on the same spot for many seconds together. By this time the noise made by the bookmakers in the inclosure below was like that of ten thousand sea fowl on a reef of rock, and Glory was trying to speak above the deafening clangour.
”Silver and gold have I none, but if I had--what's that?”
A white flag had fallen as signal for the start, there was a hollow roar from the starting post, and people were shouting, ”They're off!”
Then there was a sudden silence, a dead hush--below, above, around, everywhere, and all eyes, all gla.s.ses, all lorgnettes were turned in the direction of the runners.
The horses got well away and raced up the hill like cavalry charging in line; then at the mile post the favourite drew to the front, and the others went after him in an indistinguishable ma.s.s. But the descent seemed not to his liking; he twisted a good deal, and the jockey was seen sawing the reins and almost hanging over the horse's head. When the racers swung round Tattenham Corner and came up like mice in the distance, it was seen that another horse had taken advantage of an opening and was overhauling the favourite with a tremendous rush. His colours were white and black. It was Ellan Vannin. From that moment Drake's horse never relinquished his advantage, but came down the straight like a great bird with his wings ceasing to flap, pa.s.sed the Stand amid great excitement, and won handsomely by a length.
Then in the roar of delight that went up from the crowd Glory, with her hand on Drake's shoulder, was seen to be crying, laughing, and cheering at the same moment.
”But _you've_ lost,” said Drake.
”Oh, bother that!” she said, and when the jockey had slipped from his saddle, and Drake had taken his horse into the weighing-room and the ”All right!” was shouted, she started the cheering again and said she meant to make a dead heat of it with Tennyson's brook.
”But why did you bet against me?” said Drake.
”You silly boy,” she answered with a crow of happiness and gaiety, ”didn't the gipsy tell me I should lose money to-day? And how could I bet on your horse unless you lost the race?”
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