The little party had the road to themselves, and passed unheeded.
The Billjim Guard were escorting the favourite to the yard, and the crowd were escorting the Billjims.
When Four-Pound-the-Second reached the yard with his three satellites twenty minutes later, the backwash of the crowd still eddied and swirled about the entrance.
The policeman on the gate made a fuss about admitting Billy Bluff. But the head yard-man, who knew Mat Woodburn's daughter almost as well as he knew his own, interfered on her behalf.
"He'll sleep in my horse's box," Boy explained.
"Won't your horse sleep without him, Miss?" grinned the yard-man.
"Not so well," answered the girl.
"Oh, let him in," said the other. "Pity to spoil that horse's beauty sleep. Might lose his looks."
Boy could never bring herself to titter at the jokes of those whom it was expedient to placate. Happily Albert was at hand to make amends, and he, to be sure, had no qualms of conscience.
The little procession entered, Billy Bluff at the heels of the great horse, striking fire in the dusk from the cobbled yard.