Ainslee's, Vol. 15, No. 5, June 1905

“Last all the way – eh, Miss Allys?” Adair said, leaning across Billy, who would have given back but that Allys clung to him in silence, her eyes glued to the glass, flushing and paling, her breath coming quicker even thus early in the race.

There were open lengths all along – the lightweights were bent on making it a runaway race. Billy knew they could never do it. A horseman born and made, he marked their stride, and understood even better than their jockeys how much the killing pace was taking out of them. It did not astonish him that in the outstretch, before a mile had been run, three of the first flight chucked it up, falling back, back, till even the Heathflower thing showed them her heels. At the mile there were more counterfeits proven – as the race swept down upon the stand the second time there were but seven of the original contenders really in it. The rest were tailing hopelessly. One or two even pulled up. But the Heathflower thing was among the seven, and keeping place right behind the favorites.

Allys clutched Billy’s arm so hard her fingers half buried in it. She was getting the thrills she had pined for with a vengeance, now that her freedom, her future, were to be colored by the issue of the race.

The Heathflower thing could not win, of course; still, it was pure delight to have her so far redeem herself. If she was even near the real contenders at the finish, Billy’s faith would be justified. So many, at shorter odds, had already fallen out, there would be distinction in staying all the way.

If the impossible happened, the Heathflower thing won, then she would have Hilary in a very proper frame of mind. Losing always hurt him dreadfully – it would be gall and wormwood to have lost to such a winner. She felt this rather than thought it – connected thought indeed was impossible in view of what was happening out on the course.

In the outstretch, for the second time, Aramis shot forward like the arrow from a bended bow. He had been running under wraps – now thus far from home, his jockey, the most famous of them all, gave him his head, evidently thinking there would be but one horse in the race. All in a breath two open lengths showed between Aramis and the others; then Aldegonde with a mighty burst lapped the leader’s flank. Tay Ho was right behind – so close his backers set up a breathless shout. The Flower was still last, but strive, strain, stretch as the flying leaders might, they got no further away from her.

Billy flung up his hat, then clapped his hand over his mouth and said, smotheredly:

“See that, Miss Allys! Let her come into the stretch with just one breath more’n those fine fellows, and it’s all over but the cashin’ in.”

“Billy, you’re an angel! I thought we were hopelessly beaten,” Allys breathed rather than said.

Hilary’s mouth set. Adair, watching him narrowly, saw it also whiten when, at the second mile post, the three leaders swept the turn barely heads apart, with the Heathflower thing right on their heels. More than that, she was running strongly, easily, clearly not distressed, although Aramis, still leading, rolled the least bit.

Could that leggy bay really stay the route? Was there any reason for the Wickliffe boy’s unreason? Was there also any chance for him? – there Adair stopped short, smiling a thought grimly to see how all unconsciously, all femininely, Allys drooped to Billy’s upright, youthful strength.

Hilary likewise noted it – with a thumping heart that sent the color surging over his face. Habitually he held himself well in hand – it amazed and angered him to find himself thus swept beyond himself. To all of us come moments when instinct masters reason – the primal masculine instinct of possession told him he would win or lose his quicksilver sweetheart on the issue of this race.

Now she had no thought of him – her eyes were only for the course, where four horses ran like a team as never any of them had run before. All through the first quarter of this fateful last half, they held each other safe, running side by side, stride for stride.

At the furlong pole beyond, Tay Ho’s hooded head for the first time showed in front – only to be instantly eclipsed by the white star of Aldegonde. Aramis began to hang – the angry roar of his backers told he was out of it. Simultaneously, the jockeys sat down to ride – there was the cruel swish of catgut, the crueler prodding of steel. In the crowd a great hushed breath, like the sigh of a forest before the storm, told of tense heartstrings.

Almost instantly the sigh changed to a shouted roar as Tay Ho dropped back level with Aramis, leaving Aldegonde and the Heathflower thing half a length to the good. But next breath the falterers came again – together they held their place, their way, four mighty masses of blood and bone, of breath and fire and stay, fighting it out every inch of the way, with a living sea roaring, shouting, cursing, crying encouragement on either hand.

How they lay down to it! How they came up!

Stretch and gather! Stretch and gather, the game and gallant foursome held to it. Now, for the first time, the Heathflower thing showed all that was in her. Even those who stood to lose fortunes felt that her whirlwind rush deserved to win.

A hundred yards from the wire, whips still flying, rowels plowing furrows in satin coats, Aramis staggered, half stumbled, then fell back an open length.

Tim flung away his whip, and leaned far over, lying almost flat upon the Flower’s neck to shout in her ear: “You see dat dar Mister Aldergown! Dee calls him bulldawg! Tote yosef, gal! Show ’im you’s bulldawg, too.” Perhaps the Flower resented the caution. Certainly, she hung a bit in the next stride. Tay Ho and Aldegonde, running either side of her, almost let in daylight between.

The cheers, the roars, mounted in deafening volume. The Heathflower thing answered them by going down, down, till it seemed she lay quite flat on earth. And then she came up, up, with a leap so long, so lancelike, it recovered all she had lost. Again she thrust herself forward – the horses either side of her thrust as far.

Twenty yards from home not one of the three was an inch to the good or the bad. Aldegonde’s jockey slashed his mount savagely – somehow, one blow of the whip fell on the Flower’s quarter – fell and won the race. With a sweep as of the wind she went away from it, and got her nose across the finish line three inches in front!

A near thing. Anybody must admit that. So near the tumult died to a breathless hush. Hilary half turned about. “I’m going to the judges’ stand to see what won,” he said. “I saw Aldegonde first.”

“I don’t know about that – but I reckon you won’t go,” Billy said, laying his hand upon Hilary’s arm.

Hilary was furious. “Why not?” he demanded. He was no weakling, but somehow he could not get free of that impertinent young cub’s grip.

“Oh, because you are – your father’s son,” Billy said, nonchalantly, then steadfastly, the lightness dying from face and voice: “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Hilary, but all of us have got to take account of human nature. We may think we know what won – you and me – but it’s the judges’ business to say so – and ours to be satisfied with the sayin’. That’s only fair – ”

“Let go my arm!” Hilary said, in a hoarse whisper, his eyes murderous.

Billy held him fast. “Not until you give me a gentleman’s word you won’t interfere,” he said.

Allys looked at him amazed, enchanted. Here was no boy to be played with, petted and coaxed from his beliefs – rather a man standing for what he held the right with the fire and strength of youth.

Adair caught Hilary on the other side, saying under breath: “Hold still, Rich! You must! The wild man from Borneo is right this time. It would be horribly bad form if you said a questioning word – and, anyway, the judges saw – what we did.”

Hilary turned upon Billy a look that made Allys hide her eyes, but nodded shortly, and strode away, not toward the stand. Billy turned to shield Allys, until by the stunned silence falling on the course, he knew the boards were going up – with the Flower’s number at the top of them.

Then he took the fence in front at a flying leap, and came to himself only when he had both arms about the Flower’s neck, his face pressed to it, and tears raining, as he whispered: “You won, lady! You had to! You wouldn’t let Haw Bush be sold over the major’s head. Hang the mortgages now – we’ll save him, you and I! And you shall never, never run another race!”

As the Flower was led away to receive other flowers, the hideous horseshoe penalty of victory, the crowd was astounded to see in the middle of the course a tall youngster in loud plaids, leaping, shouting, hugging himself, laughing and crying in the same breath.

And this was what he shouted: “The blood of Blink Bonny! Hurrah! hurrah! Beat it if you can! Hurrah for Haw Bush! For Major Meriwether! For Tim! For Blink Bonny! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”

Allys watched him, smiling roguishly. “Billy is ridiculously young,” she said to the constant Adair.

Adair looked glum. He knew, and knew she knew, that the boy they had welcomed was of full man’s age – quite old enough, in fact, to be married.

MONOTONY

Love, does my love with weary burden fall
Daily upon thy too accustomed ear
With words so oft repeated that the dear,
Sweet tones of early joy begin to pall?
What gift of loving may I give to call
Again to your deep eyes of brown the tear
Of welling, full delight and love, the clear,
Rose-petaled blush that holds my heart in thrall?

Not all the homage of the bees that wing
Laden with honey through the clover days
Wearies the tiny queen with heavy tune!
Not all the rapture of the birds that fling
Love melodies adrift through leafy ways
Burdens the mothers on their nests in June!

    Philip Gerry.

“PLUG” IVORY AND “PLUG” AVERY

By Holman F. Day

It was the queerest turnout that ever invaded Smyrna Corner.

Even the frogs of Smyrna swamp at the edge of the village gulped back their pipings, climbed the bank for a nearer view, and goggled in astonished silence as it passed, groaning, in the soft and early dusk.

’Twas a sort of van – almost a little house on wheels, with an elbow of stove funnel sticking out of one side. An old chaise top was fastened by strings and wire over a seat in front. Dust and mud covered everything with striated coatings, mask eloquent of wanderings over many soils. A cadaverous horse, knee-sprung and wheezy, dragged the van at the gait of a caterpillar.