"Come up here, Esther," said William; "stand on my box. The 'orses are
just going up the course for the preliminary canter. And you, Sarah, take
Teddy's place. Teddy, get down, and let the lady up."
"Yes, guv'nor. Come up 'ere, ma'am."
"And is those the 'orses?" said Sarah. "They do seem small."
The ringmen roared. "Not up to those on the 'ill, ma'am," said one. "Not
such beautiful goers," said another.
There were two or three false starts, and then, looking through a
multitude of hats, Esther saw five or six thin greyhound-looking horses.
They passed like shadows, flitted by; and she was sorry for the poor
chestnut that trotted in among the crowd.
This was the last race. Once more the favourite had been beaten; there
were no bets to pay, and the bookmakers began to prepare for departure. It
was the poor little clerks who were charged with the luggage. Teddy did
not seem as if he would ever reach the top of the hill. With Esther and
Sarah on either arm, William struggled with the crowd. It was hard to get
through the block of carriages. Everywhere horses waited with their
harness on, and Sarah was afraid of being bitten or kicked. A young
aristocrat cursed them from the box-seat, and the groom blew a blast as
the drag rolled away. It was like the instinct of departure which takes a
vast herd at a certain moment.
Pages:
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403