Part 89 (1/2)

The words confirmed suspicion, and brought forth a roar of cheering from the Americans.

”Here, sir!” panted a voice.

Monkey Brand was forcing his way through the crowd, heralded by the police. Behind him followed a slight figure in dark blue.

”Is that Miss Woodburn?” called the Clerk.

”Yes,” replied a deep voice. ”Here I am.”

”Would you step up here?”

The girl ran up the steps, and took her place by the little jockey.

Whoever else was disconcerted, it was not she.

A sound that was not quite a groan rose from the watching crowd and died away.

The girl gave her hand to the jockey.

”Well ridden, Albert,” she said, and in the silence her words were heard by thousands.

The lad touched his forehead, and took her hand sheepishly.

”Thank you, Miss,” he answered.

Then the storm broke, and the bookies who had made millions over the defeat of the favourite led the roar.

There was no mistaking the matter now. The Boys had been sold again.

The rougher elements amongst Ikey's Own sought a scape-goat.

They found him in Joses.

Chukkers came out of the weighing-room and deliberately struck the fat man. That started it: the crowd did the rest.

Old Mat and Jim Silver waited on the outskirts of the hub-bub.

The American Amba.s.sador and his tall dark daughter stood near by.

”What stories they tell,” said the great man in his gentle way.

”Don't they, sir?” answered Old Mat, wiping an innocent blue eye. ”And they gets no better as the years go by. They saddens me and Mar. They does reelly.”

Boy Woodburn, making her way through the crowd, joined the little group.

”Congratulations, Miss Woodburn,” said the Amba.s.sador's daughter shyly.

”The best horse won.”

The fair girl beamed on the dark.