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Making £10,000:
Talbot Mundy:
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Making £10,000
by
Talbot Mundy
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First published in McClure's Magazine, April 1913
This e-book edition: Project Gutenberg Australia, 2024
McClure's Magazine, April 1913, with "Making £10,000"
Illustration from McClure's, April 1913
I
"I HAVE!" said the Honorable William
Allison. And he closed his lips so tightly when he had said
it, and his merry face looked so comically sorry, that
Gladys Powers had no need to guess what the answer was.
"Tell me all about it!" she said promptly. She smiled
back at him, but there was concern in her big dark eyes.
"First of all, what did you say?"
"Me? Oh, I told him I'd like the deuce to marry you,
don't you know, and all that kind of thing—said you
were dashed charming girl and so on, and that I thought
we'd hit it off together."
"And did you say it offhandedly like that?"
"Why, of course! You didn't expect me to go down on my
knees to him, did you?"
She was trembling on the very verge of laughter, and
drew out her handkerchief to hide it from him.
"No," she bubbled. "Go on. What did hesay?"
"Said he'd no time for hereditary boneheads—dashed
if I know what a bonehead is, exactly, but I'll bet it's
something rude—and that he wouldn't let his daughter
marry one on any terms! Said there were boneheads enough
in the States, without coming across the water to find
one! He added a lot of tommy-nonsense about the idea
of an aristocracy being all wrong anyhow. So I asked
him whether he'd have liked me any better if I'd been a
brick-layer!"
The dimples began to dance again. She loved this lean,
clean-looking Englishman very dearly; but love had not
killed her sense of humor.
"Most extraordinary thing, but the mention of bricks
seemed to make him positively savage!"
"He made his money building, you know. He's been
fighting the brick-layers' union all his life; he says
that, from first to last, they've cost him fifteen
million!"
"He must be most uncommon oofy, to spend that much money
fightin' a lot of brick-layers!"
"Father's not exactly a pauper, you know!"
"Confound him—he called me one!"
"That's exactly what you called yourself when you
proposed to me!"
"I know I did. But I didn't mean it as literally as
all that! I've got fifteen hundred a year of my own. I
said that as his son-in-law I supposed I might amount to
something financially some day! But he got awfully red in
the face, and said he wouldn't have me for a son-in-law at
any price. I asked him whether we couldn't come to some
sort of terms. He said no! So I reminded him that as a
business man—which he seemed so infernally proud of
calling himself— he must realize that there's a way
of compromising everything. He thought a little after that.
Then he said suddenly that if I'd prove to him that I'm not
a bonehead, he'd consider it. By the way, what the deuce is
a bonehead?"
"A fool. Go on—what then?"
"I invited him to be a little more explicit. He said,
'Go and make some money, and bring it here and show it
to me!' I asked him how much money, and he thought for a
minute, and then snapped out, 'Ten thousand!' 'Dollars?'
I asked him. You see, I could have borrowed that much, at
a pinch, and have brought it round to him this afternoon!
But he said: 'No; pounds! Go and make ten thousand pounds
within the next six months, and show it to me. Then I'll
let Gladys do as she likes about it!' So I bowed myself
out."
"And can you do it?" asked Gladys Powers eagerly.
"Not if I want to keep out of jail, I'm afraid! You see,
I've had no business training."
Gladys Powers dug the point of her umbrella into the
frozen February grass, and frowned.
"I call it mean of father," she exclaimed, "to talk to
you that way! He's forever preaching against what he calls
'bucking the other fellow's game,' and now he tells you to
go and do it! He knows perfectly well that you're not a
business man! Besides, he's bucking somebody else's game
himself, and he's seen how futile it is!"
"Whose game's he buckin'?"
"Yours. He's perfectly crazy to get into society over
here, "and he hasn't been able to do it."
"He'd find himself in society in a minute, if he'd let
you marry me!"
Gladys smiled, in spite of herself. She knew that her
father would either get what he wanted on his own merits
and by his own efforts, or do without.
"Oh, if you could only get the better of him!" she
exclaimed. "He'd think the world of you! Won't you try?
Do try! It isn't that you're poor—he doesn't mind
that; he wants me to marry a man with brains. Beat him!
Then he'll have to admit that you've got brains. Try! Won't
you?"
And she said "Won't you?" in a way that went straight
to the heart of the Honorable William Allison. He stood
in front of her for a moment stock-still, gazing straight
ahead beyond her.
"I'll have a try!" he said in a low voice. "Tell
me—is he really keen on this idea of gettin' into
society?"
"He's crazy about it! He's crazy because he's failed!
He hates failure, and he means to keep on at it until he's
won!"
Bill Allison reflected again for about a minute; he was
beginning to look singularly gloomy.
"I don't see how that's goin' to help much," he said,
more to himself than to Gladys Powers. "Still,"—and
he looked straight into her eyes, and she read resource
there, and believed in him and took courage,—"I can
but try! We'll see!"
II
AN HOUR later the Honorable
William Allison strolled into one of the most exclusive
clubs, and subsided gloomily into a deep arm-chair. It was
one thing to say that he would try, but quite another thing
to think out a feasible plan on which to act.
"Confound the man!" he muttered savagely.
"Hullo, Bill!" said a pleasant voice beside him; and he
started and looked round.
"You, Galloway? Why the deuce didn't you speak before?
How long have you been here? Were you here when I came
in?"
"Thought I'd watch you, Bill! Dashed interestin',
believe me! First time in my life that I ever saw you
lookin' gloomy! Been busy wonderin' what's up! Money-lender
naggin' you?"
"No. Nothin' to speak of."
"Liver out of order?"
"Never better in my life."
"Some female woman been unkind to you?"
"No."
"Bill—you're in love!"
"Nonsense."
"You can't deceive me, Bill! So she won't have you, eh?
Well, you'll get over that all right. There are heaps more
women, Bill, and they're all of 'em too good for you and
me! Your troubles don't amount to anything—listen
to my tale of woe! Trainin' stable all gone to the
deuce—eight rotten gee-gees all eatin' their useless
heads off—three of 'em lame—two of 'em
crocks that couldn't win a sellin' plate to save their
lives—an' that brute Souffrière so savage that nobody
can do a thing with him! He half killed an unfortunate
stable-boy the day before yesterday. The boy's in
hospital—at my expense! Takes a sight of the whip to
induce any of the other boys to go near the brute. Pity of
it is that he's entered for the Grand National—and he
could win it, if only I could find a man to ride him!"
"He certainly could win it!" said Bill Allison, with an
air of absolute conviction.
"I know he could, Bill! But I've got to sell him;
there's nothin' else for it! My stable's been losin'
me money for so long that I simply can't stave off my
creditors for another week!"
"But why sell the best horse you've got? Why not keep
him, and sell the rest?"
"Seen the others?"
"Yes, I've seen 'em."
"Would you buy 'em?"
"Well, speakin' personally, no! Still—"
"Shut up talkin' rot, then! Souffrière's got to go: I'm
goin' to sell him next week."
"Is he fit?" asked Allison. An idea seemed to have risen
new-born behind his eyes, for they positively blazed as he
leaned forward and looked at Galloway.
"He's fit as a fiddle—now. He won't be, though, in
a week's time. All he needs is gallopin', and, I tell you,
I can't get a man to ride him."
Bill Allison lay back in his chair again, with his
tall hat tipped forward over his eyes. His long lean leg,
crossed over the other, moved up and down rhythmically, and
the fingers of his right hand drummed gently on the arm of
the chair.
"Tell me, Sammy." he said suddenly, "are you keen on
sellin' Souffrière? D'you want to get out of the racin'
game for good?"
"Want to? I should say not! If I could think of any way
out of quittin'— "
"I've thought of one!"
"Out with it, then, as you love me! I'd give ten years
of my ill-spent life for the right idea!"
"Ten years won't do, Sammy, my boy! We'll have
to do this on half shares and hold our respective
tongues. Also, we'll have to be singularly—most
uncommon—careful!"
I'm the carefulest young fellow you ever knew, Bill.
There's not even a woman can make me talk, when I don't
want to!"
They talked together for the next three hours,
mysteriously; and every now and then one or the other of
them was emphatic.
At the end of that time the Honorable William Allison
hurried to his chambers and superintended the packing of
his portmanteaus. A little later he took a train into the
country. But his friend Sammy Galloway, contrary to his
original intentions, remained in town.
III
THERE was nobody in London with a
more varied or extensive acquaintance than Sammy Galloway.
He was popular for his sunny disposition and his thoroughly
sportsmanlike qualities; and, although his comparative
poverty precluded his returning hospitality to any great
extent, his presence at all kinds of social functions was
in very great demand. So he had no difficulty whatever in
securing an introduction to Mr. Franklin Powers.
Sammy was ushered into the largest room of the most
expensive private suite in the most up-to-date hotel in
London; and he was kept waiting there for fully ten minutes
before Mr. Powers appeared. To use his own expression, he
was" sweatin' like a horse" when his host finally arrived
and demanded, rather brusquely, what he might want.
Mr. Powers had been just long enough in England to
realize that letters of introduction from influential
sources were seldom guileless when addressed to himself. He
had made the discovery that society is as greedy of favors
from millionaires as it is chary of extending them. So
there was a note of challenge in his voice, and it acted as
a tonic to Sammy Galloway. He left off feeling nervous, and
displayed true genius by tackling his quarry in the one way
that was at all likely to have effect.﹃I've come to talk
business,﹄"he said, as he resumed his seat.
"Good!" said Franklin Powers. "I'm listening!"
"I've been told—and I won't divulge the name of my
informant on any terms— that you are anxious to get
into the best society over here."
Powers stood up as though a spring had been suddenly
released inside him. "Go on!" he said non-committally.
"I can show you the way—on terms."
Powers sat down again, and the two men looked at each
other in tense silence for about a minute. Each liked
the appearance of the other. There was no gainsaying the
rugged strength of the millionaire; he looked like what
he was—a born fighter, whom many victories had made
self-confident. And Sammy Galloway, who looked the acme of
good nature, also looked honest. His introductions, too,
were unexceptionable.
"Let's hear all about it!" said Mr. Powers.
"I'm not here for fun!" said Sammy. "There are a lot
of things I'd rather do than this. But, as long as you
understand, to begin with, that I'm playing my own game as
well as yours, we ought to hit it off all right."
Powers nodded. "I hope it's not introductions!" he said.
"I've tried 'em— had dozens of 'em. All they ever got
me was invitations to charity bazaars, and a pink tea or so
now and then!"
"Lord, no!" said Sammy. "You've got to do a thing like
this off your own bat! Introductions are all right, of
course, to begin with, provided they're the right kind.
But a man wants more than that. Nobody cares much where
a man comes from; what he's got to do is to be something
or do something out of the ordinary. Millionaires are as
common as stray dogs! What's wanted is a millionaire who's
something else besides; and—and that's where I come
in!"
Powers nodded again. "Go on!" he said. "I'm
interested!"
"You want to do something big in a social sort of way
that'll make the right crowd take notice of you."
"I've given a couple of very expensive parties," said
the millionaire. "But that didn't work. Half the people I
invited didn't come, and those that did come weren't any
good!"
"Exactly!" said Sammy. "Any fool can give a party! Now
do something decent!"
The millionaire stared hard at him, not quite certain
how to take that remark. "What would you do, for instance?"
he asked after a moment.
"Win a classic race!"
"Win a what?"
"Be the owner of a horse that wins the Grand National,
for instance."
"The only horses I've ever owned were truck-horses. I
don't know a thing about race-horses. My daughter and I use
autos. I wouldn't know how to go about it."
"Exactly!" repeated Sammy. "That's where I come in! I
own a horse that can win the National, and I've got to sell
him. I'm broke, you understand."
Powers got up again and began to pace the room.﹃How do
you know he can win the National?﹄he demanded abruptly.
"How do you know in advance that you can put through one
of your big business deals?" asked Sammy.
"That's different. It's my hand that puts them through.
I succeed where another man would very likely fail. I know
how!"
"That's my case again," said Sammy triumphantly. "I
could sell this horse for enough money, to get me out of
debt; but the man who bought him couldn't win the National
with him. He needs riding, and I've got the only man in
England who can do it. He's a brute of a horse—savage
as they make 'em; wants a real man on his back."
"Then you want me to buy your horse? Is that what it all
amounts to?"
"Not by a long way! I could sell him, as I told you.
There are more than a dozen men I know who would take a
chance on buying Souffrière. I'm offering you more than
just a horse, and I'm asking more than just the price of
him. I'm offering to win the National with him for you,
and I'm willing to be paid by results. That horse is worth
about three thousand guineas as he stands; they'd pay
that price for him for the stud, and anyone you care to
ask will confirm what I say. I'm asking you two thousand
guineas for him—cash; and in return for that amount
I'll transfer him, engagements and all, into your name.
If he doesn't win the National, he's yours anyhow, and
you'll be able to sell him again for enough to get back
the two thousand—together with the expenses of my
training-stable, which I'll expect you to guarantee from
now until the race comes off. If he wins, I get your check
for ten thousand pounds immediately after the race."
"But why do you come to me?" asked Powers suspiciously.
"Why don't you go with your offer to one of your own
countrymen?"
"I thought I'd be able to make a quick deal with you,
for one thing, and I knew you'd got the money. Besides,
I've got ulterior motives. When the thing's all over,
I've a friend I want to introduce to you; possibly he can
put something in your way, too. He'll be able to help you
socially better even than I can. But I want you to learn to
have confidence in me first. One thing at a time."
"But how is this business of winning the Grand National
going to help me socially?"
"Believe me," said Sammy darkly, "there's positively
nothing you could do that would help you more!"
Powers drew the stub of a pencil from his pocket, and
tossed it up and down on the palm of his hand in a movement
that was characteristic of him when he was making up his
mind.
"Supposing he wins, who gets the stake?" he asked.
"You do."
"When is the Grand National run?"
"Latter part of March—six weeks from now."
"And this jockey you speak of—are you sure of
him?"
"Absolutely! If he doesn't ride the horse, you can call
the deal off, and I'll pay you your money back!"
Powers looked hard at him through narrowed eyes. He
was stil1 uncertain. The pencil-stub was still dancing
on the palm of his hand. This man was certainly a
gentleman—his introductions were beyond all question
everything that they ought to be. He looked honest and
spoke squarely. The proposition was unusual, but—
"Will you give me your word of honor that this
proposition's on the level?" he demanded.
"Certainly."
Powers tossed the pencil up and caught it. His mind was
made up. "I'll go you, then! How much cash did you say? Two
thousand guineas? Two thousand one hundred pounds, eh?"
And Mr. Franklin Powers produced his checkbook and
made out a check in favor of Mr. Sammy Galloway for that
amount.
IV
SIX weeks later the fashionable
sporting crowd put in its annual appearance on Aintree
racecourse. It was tall-hatted and fur-coated, and as
different from a summer-season racing crowd as could easily
be imagined. The people who brave the March winds at
Aintree are those who go racing for the love of it, and not
just because it happens to be the thing to do.
Galloway, most immaculately dressed, leaned against
the paddock railing and talked through it to his friend
Allison. Allison was overcoated from ears to heels; he
looked thinner than when he and Sammy had talked together
at the club, but the glow of health was on him, and he
seemed happy as a school-boy.
"What odds are they laying?" demanded Allison.
"Twenty to one!"
"I don't wonder!" said Allison, looking over his
shoulder at Souffrière. The big red devil of a horse was
being led round and round the paddock at what was intended
to be a walk—blanketed until nothing of him was
visible except his savage eye, which peeped out through a
hole in his hood. As Allison spoke, the brute snorted and
squealed and snatched at his leading-rein, and a pitched
battle followed between him and the man who led him. Above
the buzz and clamor of the crowd came the raucous bellowing
of a book-maker:﹃Twenties, Souffrière! Twenty to one,
Souffrière!﹄But no one seemed anxious to bet on him.
"Have you got the money on?" asked Allison.
"Yes."
"The whole two thousand?"
"Every single penny of it."
"So we stand to win forty thousand pounds, eh?"
"We do—or else lose everything!"
"Don't think of it! How did you keep old Powers out of
the way?"
"He and Miss Powers were awfully keen to come into the
paddock," said Sammy. "But I told him it wouldn't do. Said
I wanted his entrance on the scene to be as dramatic as
possible; asked him to wait until the race was over before
showing up, and then lead in the winner. He and Miss Powers
are sitting in a box right in the middle of the grand
stand, and they're both of 'em half frantic for the race to
begin. I'd better go over to 'em now, and try to keep 'em
quiet. So long! Good luck, Bill!"
"So long, Sammy! Good luck!"
As Sammy Galloway joined the little party in the box,
Souffrière's price began to alter in the betting.
"Why, they're only laying fifteen to one against him
now!" said Gladys Powers. "Listen! I wonder why that
is?"
"Dunno, I'm sure," said Sammy, taking the vacant chair
between her and her father. "Unless some one in the crowd's
spotted who's goin' to ride him."
"Why, is the jockey so well known? I thought he was just
one of your men."
"Oh, he's fairly well known," said Sammy. "Listen!
They've shortened him some more!"
"Twelve to one, Souffrière! Twelve to one, Souffrière!"
barked the bookies.
"What's the jockey's name?" asked Gladys.
"Bill."
"Bill what?"
"Just Bill. Look! There they come!"
There was a sudden silence, and everybody craned forward
to watch the horses coming out. Seventeen of them, prancing
and cavorting, filed out, one by one, on to the course.
They missed their blankets, for the March wind nipped
them; and as they danced on tiptoe in their eagerness to
get their heads down and be off, they presented as fine a
spectacle as could be witnessed anywhere. The last to come
out was Souffrière—seventeen hands of plunging red
deviltry; and as he reared on his hind legs and seesawed
through the gate, the crowd began to hum again with
conversation.
But the bookies were still silent. To a man, they were
watching Souffrière through field-glasses. Suddenly one of
them closed his glasses with a snap and turned toward the
rest.
"It is!" he yelled excitedly. "Tens, Souffrière! Ten to
one, Souffrière!"
The last-minute plungers, who always form a quite
considerable percentage of the betting crowd, took that to
be an echo of inside information. There was a rush to get
on at ten to one, and in a moment the price had shortened
down to eights. The bookies bellowed it out above the
ceaseless murmur of the crowd.
"He'll be the favorite in a minute at this rate!" said
the millionaire, grinning with pleasure that he took no
trouble to conceal.
Souffrière was the biggest and by far the finest-looking
of the field. He came on to the course sideways, fighting
for his head like a mad devil. He seemed the squealing,
dancing, plunging, lashing embodiment of energy. His red
coat shone like new satin, and his great muscles played up
and down beneath it like springs of tempered steel. He was
a picture of a horse. Anyone with half an eye could see
that he was trained down to the last touch; and the rider
who sat him so perfectly, and coaxed and steadied him,
seemed as lithe and well trained as the horse.
"That man's face seems strangely familiar!" said
Franklin Powers, staring through his field-glasses.
Gladys Powers had thought the same thing; she too was
watching closely through her glasses.
"Who did you say his jockey was?" she asked Sammy. "Bill
who?"
"Watch, Miss Powers! This'll be worth watching!"
"It looked almost like—"
"Oh, all men look pretty much alike in racing-kit!
Watch!"
Every rider excepting Souffrière's gave his horse
a trial jump over the first fence on the course. But
Souffrière was taken straight down to the starting-point.
It seemed better, to the man who rode him, to take the
first jump blind than to let the horse have his head yet
for so much as a second. He kept him by the starting-gate
until the other horses came and lined up on either side of
him.
"They're off!" roared the crowd.
It is like the thunder of a big wave on rocks, and the
growl of the undertow—that sudden exclamation of the
waiting crowd. It thrills even the oldest race-goer. Gladys
Powers leaned against the rail in front of her and tried
to stop her heart from palpitating by pressing it against
the wood. The silence of the dead followed, as the horses
raced neck and neck for the first jump. They reached it
all together in a bunch. Souffrière rose at it as if it
were a mountain, shot over it without touching a twig, and
landed neatly in his stride on the far side, half a length
in front of the rest. Between that jump and the next he
continued to gain steadily.
But the Grand National is a five-mile race, or
thereabouts—five miles of the stiffest going in the
world. The jumps are prodigious. No ordinary horse could
get across them, and none but the stoutest-hearted man
dare try to ride him. The pace was a cracker, and Sammy
Galloway—gazing through his glasses beside Gladys
Powers—grunted and ground his teeth.
"What's the matter?" asked Gladys.
"He's taking it too fast!" He had reached the open ditch
already—a misnamed contraption with a guard-rail
in front of it and a thumping big fence on the far side;
it had been the death of more good men and horses than
all the other risks of steeple-chasing put together. As
Galloway spoke, Souffrière's rider dropped his hands, and
the horse swung his great hind legs under him and leaped
over it like a cat. He cleared it without touching, and his
rider—his head a little to one side—watched
his fore feet critically to see how he placed them when he
landed.
"Look at him!" said Sammy. "Ain't he cool! But what's he
takin' it so fast for?"
Souffrière was a full length in the lead
now—striding along as though he found the going
easy, and eating up the distance between jumps with
long, easy strides that told of tremendous strength
still in reserve. He had a hundred and forty pounds
to carry,—twenty-eight pounds less than the top
weight,—and he was making nothing of it. The two
horses next behind him rose at the open ditch together,
cannoned heavily, and fell—one of them with a broken
back. The remainder cleared it; but the accident gave
Souffrière a lead of two full lengths. The race had still
nearly four miles to go, and Galloway, watching through his
field-glasses, could see Souffrière's rider looking behind
him to see where the others were.
"Take a pull, man! Take a pull!" he grumbled aloud.
"There's simply tons of time'"
"Didn't you give him instructions how to ride before
the race started?" asked Gladys, who had been reading
up horse-racing matters since her father had become an
owner.
"Me? Tell Bill how to ride!? I should say not! He's out
and away the best horseman in England! Watch him!"
Souffrière, slugging his head against the bit, seemed
bent on increasing the lead still further, and his rider
seemed quite disposed to let him do it. The great horse
was still sweeping along without any apparent effort, and
jumping as a cat jumps—carefully. The pace, though,
was nothing short of tremendous. It was much too hot to
last, and the field was tailing out behind already. As they
rounded the turn for home, Souffrière was more than four
lengths in the lead. Six other horses were waiting on him,
and going strong— one little brown horse, that was
running fourth, seeming to go well within himself. They
were all six letting Souffrière make the pace for them, and
every one of them was clearly to be reckoned with.
As they galloped up toward the grand-stand, though,
Souffrière's rider seemed to be cracking on the pace even
a little faster. Those who watched him narrowly enough
through field-glasses could see him speaking to the horse.
Gladys was one of those who watched the rider's face.
Suddenly she clutched at Sammy's sleeve and whispered to
him.
"Tell me, Mr. Galloway, who's that riding him? It looks
from here like—It is! Isn't it?"
"Quiet now, Miss Powers!" said Sammy. "Don't give the
game away! Yes—it is! Watch him!"
As Souffrière galloped past the grand-stand, Sammy
Galloway found time to scrutinize Mr. Powers' face for a
second. The millionaire was watching the horse as though
his whole fortune depended on his winning. He had no time
to study the rider, and no idea as yet who was on the
horse's back; and Sammy heaved a sigh of relief as he
turned to watch the race again.
The horses were starting on their second journey round
the course, and there was beginning now to be something
different in the gait of Souffrière that was noticeable to
a close observer—his stride had lost a little of its
elasticity. Carefully nursed, he looked good to win the
race yet, especially considering the lead he had; but there
were more than two miles of wicked country still ahead of
him, and he needed riding.
Saving the one question of pace, he was being ridden
perfectly; no man could have ridden him better. Jump by
jump, his rider schooled him over the fiercest course in
England as coolly and perfectly as though he were out for a
practice gallop; and, so far, Souffrière had not touched a
twig. But the pace was a killer.
A booky voiced the general sentiment.﹃Ten to one,
Souffrière!﹄he roared. Several people laughed. Nobody ran
to bet with him. Then, at the water-jump, Souffrière put a
foot wrong as he landed, and stumbled badly.
"He's down!" roared the crowd.
Gladys Powers smothered a scream and clutched at Sammy's
sleeve. He was not down, though. The stumble had cost him a
good length of his lead, but he was up and going strong.
Now two of the other horses were beginning to challenge
Souffrière's lead. Whips were going. Their jockeys moved on
them, and the distance between them and Souffrière began to
grow gradually less. They gained very little on him between
the jumps, for his long, easy strides were in his favor,
arid he was almost able to hold his own; but at each jump
they lessened his lead, for he had begun to pause before
taking off, and he was landing clumsily. Each pause, and
each mistake, cost him five yards or more.
Then there were only three jumps left to take, and a
straight run home of less than two furlongs. He might do it
yet, but it seemed very doubtful. Sammy Galloway gripped
his glasses, and ground his teeth, and swore beneath his
breath. Gladys Powers clutched his arm again, and her
father stood up in the box—rigid with excitement.
"Oh, Bill, you idiot!" groaned Galloway. "Steady him,
man! Steady! Take a pull, and let 'em pass you! You'll
catch 'em again in the straight! Oh, you idiot!"
Even as he spoke, the man he apostrophized took up
his whip and sent home three good rousing wallops to
Souffrière's ribs. The second horse—the little
one that had been running fourth so gamely all the
way—was coming up hand over hand.
"Twenty to one, Souffrière!" roared a booky, and a
chorus of other bookies echoed him.
Then the horses and their riders caught the intoxicating
roar from the stands—the roar of an appreciative
crowd, that has turned the heads of contestants ever since
the dawn of history and has ruined many a fellow's chances.
It was the crucial moment. All of the horses were stretched
to their limit.
"My God!" groaned Galloway. Souffrière's rider was
flogging like a wild man—or seemed to be. It was the
one, absolute, and only thing he should not have done! Just
behind him—gaining on him fast, and coming up on the
inside—was the little brown horse. He and Souffrière
charged at the last hurdle side by side, racing shoulder to
shoulder for it, with Souffrière's head only the least bit
in front.
Crack! came his rider's whip. Souffrière slipped badly
at the take-off, and hit the hurdle hard with both hind
legs.
"He's down!" roared the crowd.
This time Souffrière was really down—kicking and
struggling like a brute possessed. His rider was still on
him, clinging with both hands to his neck, and trying to
force his weight backward into the saddle again. Souffrière
kicked, and struggled, and rose to his feet. Gladys Powers
screamed. Powers swore, and smashed his glasses against the
rail in front of him. The third horse rose at the jump,
cleared it, and missed Souffrière on the far side by about
an inch!
"Now ride!" yelled Galloway. "Ride, man! Ride!"
The man in front had glanced over his shoulder, and,
seeing that he was leading by a safe margin, had pulled
up a bit to save his horse. There was more than a furlong
still of straight going on good green grass, and the race
was still to win.
"It's all up!" groaned Galloway; and the millionaire
looked toward him and nodded. "Worth it, though!" he said,
with a wry smile. "I was never more excited in my life!"
"Thank heaven, he wasn't killed!" said Gladys. She was
white as a sheet, and trembling.
"Oh, watch!" said Sammy. "Watch!"
The crowd was yelling and thundering in the stand. They
had reckoned without Souffrière and his rider! The big red
devil was game to the last kick, and his last kick was not
due yet by a long way. It dawned on the brute suddenly that
there were two horses now in front of him. That, and the
whip, and his rider's spurs convinced him that there was
still a fight ahead, and he settled down to catch them in
real earnest. He passed the second horse like a flash, and
gave chase to the little one in front with his eyes shut
and his head slugged against the bit—while the crowd
roared and yelled until the grand-stand sounded like the
thunder of an army.
"Oh!" yelled Galloway. "Look at that, will you!"
The whip was out again, and Souffrière's rider was
putting in all he knew. The whip rose and fell like a
flail.
"He's not f1oggin' him! D'you see that? He's not
floggin' him! Oh, Bill, you're the cunnin'est old dog that
ever —"
Bill was flogging at his boot. The rider of the first
horse heard the whack-whack-whack behind him, and
started his own whip going. He flogged his horse, though.
The game little fellow changed his feet, and in that second
Souffrière caught up with him. Then down came Bill's whip
on Souffrière's flank, and he spurted, and the two flashed
past the winning-post in a thundering, snorting, sweating,
wild-eyed streak—so close together that no one
outside the judges' box could tell which was the winner.
Then the roar of the crowd died down to expectant
silence, while everybody watched the number-board. A man
started fumbling with the numbers, and Sammy saw them even
before they were on the board.
"Ten—seventeen—six!" he read off.
Ten was Souffrière!
"Come on, Mr. Powers!" said Sammy Galloway. "You're too
late to lead him in, but you can see him in the paddock!"
He took Miss Powers' arm, and the millionaire followed them
to the paddock at a run. Souffrière was already blanketed
again, and was trying hard to eat a stable-hand who was
leading him back to his box; and Galloway left them looking
at him, while he hurried round to the weighing-room door.
There he waited patiently, and presently the Honorable
William Allison emerged in jockey-kit—covered
with mud and foam, but beaming. "Bill, you idiot, we've
won twenty-five thousand pounds apiece, and it's just
twenty-five thousand more than you deserve! What, in
heaven's name, possessed you to ride the race like
that?"
"Point is, I won it, Sammy! Had to ride it that way!
Haven't been riding Souffrière in his gallops every day for
nothing, you know! I got a line on him right away at the
start. If you pull him, he sulks and fights. You've got to
let him gallop his worst all the way, and whip the steam
out of him at the finish! Got that check for ten thousand
yet?"
"Of course not! I can't ask him yet!"
"You must, Sammy! I've got to have it!"
"Better leave it till Monday, hadn't we? Let him settle
up like the bookies do; that'll be soon enough."
"No, Sam; I've got to have it now! Go and find him, and
make him write it out, while I have a tub and a change.
Bring it to me in the dressing-room."
"All right, Bill; I suppose you're running this. I'll
ask him. But, I say, I'd feel awfully mean if he tried to
kick me! I'm beginning to like the old boy!"
It seemed to Mr. Franklin Powers a little bit like sharp
business to be asked for his check almost the instant the
race was over. He was beginning to wonder, too, where all
the social glamour was that had been promised him; nobody
had noticed him as yet. However, he was a man of his word,
and he produced his check-book and a fountain-pen, and
wrote out a check for ten thousand pounds in favor of
Sammy Galloway. "Meet you in the box!" said Sammy, turning
to hurry away again.﹃I'm going to bring something in
the society line to introduce to you,﹄he added over his
shoulder as an afterthought.
Twenty minutes later Sammy Galloway came back to them;
and with him was the Honorable William Allison—quite
immaculately dressed, smiling as usual, and perfectly at
ease. He raised his hat to Gladys, but said nothing to her.
She watched him in absolute amazement, for the contrast
between this dandy and the man in silk who had ridden
Souffrière was almost unbelievable. Allison walked straight
up to the millionaire, and produced a folded piece of paper
from his pocket.
"Here's the ten thousand you mentioned, Mr. Powers," he
said, smiling affably.
Powers seized the piece of paper and examined it. It
was his own check for ten thousand that he had given Sammy
Galloway!
"This isn't yours!" said the millionaire. "You're not
Galloway!"
"Look on the other side, won't you? You'll see that he's
indorsed it over to me!"
"What's the meaning of all this?" asked Powers.
"That's the ten thousand that you told me to go and
make! I preferred that it should be ten thousand of your
money, that's all!"
"Then you and Mr. Galloway are—er —"
"Accomplices?" suggested Allison.
"And was this talk about getting me into society all
bunk?"
"Not a bit of it!" said Sammy, stepping forward. "Allow
me, Mr. Powers! This is my friend that I said I'd like to
introduce to you afterward. You'll remember, I said he can
do more for you socially than even I can!"
"Who thought out this scheme?" asked Franklin
Powers—bewildered for almost the first time in his
life.
"Bill did!" said Sammy. "I simply obeyed orders! He
planned the game, and he rode Souffrière. No other horseman
in England could have brought him in a winner. It took a
man with brains to win this race and to put through such a
scheme. We were both of us broke, and we've each of us made
twenty-five thousand, thanks to him—and you!"
"You've got everything you bargained for!" said Allison,
trying not to laugh. "As my prospective father-in-law
you'll have the entree into society right away. May
I take it that your—ah—your objection
is—ah—withdrawn?"
"You may! Shake!"
The Honorable William Allison turned to Gladys.﹃Care to
come into the paddock?﹄he asked her, almost casually.
"I'll go anywhere in the world with you!" she
answered.
THE END
Project Gutenberg Australia