Part 41 (2/2)

Eve Berkeley never looked better. Her cheeks glowed with health. She was happy--Alan was safe, what else mattered? She was radiant. Baron Childs did not conceal his admiration. She wore costly furs; they became her well. She walked proudly because of her hero, the man of the hour, the bravest of the brave.

There was only one thing lacking. If Alan could have ridden Bandmaster how glorious it would have been.

The party from The Forest caught her enthusiasm and exuberance of spirits. Their merry laughter rang clear and joyous.

Captain Morby was there, paying a flying visit from the front to see Bandmaster win. He had not met Alan since his return from his adventure.

It was half an hour before the race and a bustling scene took place as the twenty-seven horses were put to rights.

Riders hurried across the enclosure, stopping to speak to friends, colors just showing through the half-open coats, for the air was nipping. Most of them were gentlemen jockeys, five or six officers who had won their spurs over stiff courses and had capped this by brave actions at the front. Everybody recognized that racing, sport generally, had much to do with the wonderful heroism displayed in the war.

Will Kerridge was anxious. He hoped Bandmaster would win. He wanted the ride badly, but would have stood down gladly to let Alan Chesney have the mount. Fred Skane said nothing to him about Alan's intention to arrive home in time to have the ride on his horse. He was glad he had not mentioned it now; he thought Alan was detained, that he had not sufficiently recovered from his wounds to bear the journey.

A quarter of an hour more it was hopeless to expect him and yet even now Fred did not quite give up hope.

He looked anxiously about, raised his gla.s.ses and fixed them on the road from Trent Park house. n.o.body was coming. After all, Kerridge must ride--and win. He had given particular instructions how Bandmaster was to be handled. The riding of the horse had been discussed at the stud groom's house on several occasions. Sam was very anxious his son should win.

While the bustle and excitement was at its height at Trent Park a powerful motor car was speeding along the high-road at top pace. The driver was experienced and working under pressure, he had been promised a liberal tip if he arrived in time.

Behind sat Alan, endeavoring to restrain his feelings and keep quiet.

From time to time he looked at his watch and replaced it in his pocket with an impatient movement.

The car stopped with a jerk. The driver was out in a moment. Alan followed. What was wrong?

The tool box was relied upon. The man knew his work. In a quarter of an hour the car moved on, but precious time had been lost.

”We'll do it all right,” said the driver.

Alan doubted, but held his peace. It would be a terrible disappointment to arrive too late.

He must keep as calm as possible, excitement was bad for him, his nerve had been severely tried.

The landscape became more familiar with each mile pa.s.sed. He was lucky to be home again. He gave a few thoughts to his recent adventures and was thankful he had pulled through.

The Park appeared in the distance. A glance at the watch showed it would be ”neck or nothing,” he might just do it.

Something went wrong with the steering gear, the car swerved and the front wheels stuck in the ditch. The driver was shot out and Alan flung against the back of the front seat. The man was unhurt and on his feet in a few seconds.

Alan swore; he could not help it.

”Lost by a few seconds,” he said.

”I'll have her out,” said the driver, who was in the car. By much display of skill and force he backed it out, fixed the steering gear, and said:

”Get in, sir, we'll do it yet. Is that the course?” and he pointed to where the flags waved.

”That's it,” said Alan excitedly.

<script>