He did not find them; they had vanished.
It is utterly impossible to describe the emotions which filled the boy’s heart as he once more turned to seek his coach. Never in his life had he been so confused as by the events of the last few minutes.
“I may have been deceived,” he muttered. “It could not have been my old chum, Inza; and yet my last letter from Fardale said Bernard Burrage contemplated taking a trip abroad for his health. It may have been; but why did she cut me?”
He seemed to think in a confused manner, and he paid little heed to his surroundings. He was quite unaware that the races were being run, and that the crowd was yelling and cheering like a lot of lunatics.
“It must be that she did not recognize me,” he said, speaking to himself. “She did not expect to see me here, and I have changed some since we last met in New Orleans. That’s it—that’s the explanation.”
But it did not satisfy him. She had looked him squarely in the face, and she had heard him speak her name, as he started forward, with hat raised and hand outstretched. Over and over came the thought that it was surely Inza, and she had given him the cut direct.
Who was the flashy youth with her? The question struck him like a blow.
“He looked English,” thought the wondering boy. “It seems that I have heard her speak of her English relations. Now I know I have. That must have been a cousin. He gave me an insolent stare, confound him! I’d like to crack his head!”
Frank’s jealousy was beginning to stir his blood. He longed to see Inza and her companion again, but knew there was not one chance in a thousand of finding them in that great throng.
When he reached his coach he found the little professor standing on the highest seat and cheering like mad over a very close race. Frank climbed up and sat down, continuing to meditate on the events of the last half-hour, and paying very little heed to the hot heat that was being run on the track.