Part 32 (1/2)

For hours the trains had borne to Long Island crowd after crowd of eager, impatient New Yorkers. Lovers of horses, lovers of gambling, pure and simple; holiday makers, and those who wished to see the Brooklyn run out of sheer curiosity; train after train whirled these atoms of humanity to the huge gates of the Gravesend arena, wherein were to battle that day the picked thoroughbreds, old and young.

Even like bees, black-coated and buzzing, the eager ones swarmed from the cars and rehived in the great stand. Betting ring, and paddock, and lawn became alive because of their buzz; tier after tier, from step to roof, the serrated line of whitefaced humanity waited for the grand struggle.

The first race was but a race, that was all. Horses galloped, but did they not gallop other days? It was not the Brooklyn. And also the second was but another race. How slow, and of what little interest were the horses! Verily, neither was it the Brooklyn, and it was the Brooklyn forty thousand pairs of eyes had come to see.

Down in the betting ring men of strong voices bellowed words of money odds, and full-muscled shoulders pushed and carried heads about that were intent on financial businesses. But what of that? It was not the Brooklyn, it was gambling.

Out in the paddock a small brown mare of gentle aspect, with big soft eyes, full of a dreamy memory of fresh-shooting gra.s.s, walked with easy stride an elliptical circle. Her fetlocks fair kissed the short gra.s.s in an unstable manner, as though the joints were all too supple. Inside of the circle stood Allis Porter and a man square of jaw and square of shoulder, that was Andy Dixon. Presently to them came Mike Gaynor.

”We're gittin' next it now, Miss Allis; we'll soon know all about it.”

”We're all ready, Mike,” said Dixon, with square solemnity. ”When they've beat the little mare they'll be catchin' the judge's eye.”

”There's nothing left now, Mike, but just a hope for a little luck,”

added the girl.

”Ye'r talking now, Miss Allis. Luck's the trick from this out. The little mare'll have a straight run this trip. Here's the b'y comin' now, and a good b'y he is.”

A little man in blue jacket and white stars joined them, saluting Miss Allis with his riding whip. ”Are you going to win, Redpath?” asked the girl.

”I'm going to try, Miss. She's a sweet mare to ride, but it's a big field. There's some boys riding that ought to be in the stable rubbing horses.”

”You'll have to get out in front,” said Dixon, speaking low; ”your mare's too light to stand crowdin', an' even if you have to take her back for a breather after you've gone half the journey, she'll come again, for she's game.”

”Them Langdon fellows thinks they've got a great chance wit' our cast-off, Diablo,” volunteered Mike. ”I had a peep at him in the stall, an' he's lookin' purty fit.”

”He never was no cla.s.s,” objected Dixon.

”If ye'd see him gallop the day he run away, ye'd think he had cla.s.s,”

said Mike. ”Bot' tumbs up! ye'd a t'ought it was the flyin' Salvator.”

”Well, we'll soon know all about it,” declared Dixon. ”There's the saddlin' bell. Have you weighed out, Redpath? Weight all right, ninety-two pounds?”

”All right, sir. It was a close call to make it, though; there was a few ounces over.”

”All the better; it's a hot day, an' if they're long at the post it'll take them spare ounces out of you, I fancy.”

Dixon held up his finger to the boy that was leading Lucretia, and nodding his head toward the stall led the way.

”We're number seven, Mike,” said Allis, looking at the leather tag which carried the figure on Jockey Redpath's right arm.

”'There's luck in odd numbers, said Rory O'Moore,'” quoted Mike.

”I've a superst.i.tious dread of seven,” the girl said; ”it's the one number that I always a.s.sociate with disaster--I don't mind thirteen a bit.”

”We'll break the bad luck seven to-day,” a.s.serted little Redpath, bravely.

”I hope so,” answered Allis. ”Let me put my finger on the number for good luck,” and she touched the badge on his arm. ”Now I'm going up to get a good seat in the stand,” she continued; ”I'll leave Lucretia to you, Redpath.”

XXIV