Between the races nothing would do but they must have some more beer; and they went behind the grand stand where the pool-booths were, and men, and women too, were drinking it. At the booths was a great press of disreputable men, crying hoarsely and waving rolls of dingy bank-bills at the gamblers. James saw that his friend had had too much to drink already; and he insisted on putting another “fiver” on his favorite. Above them in the stalls James could see the ladies drinking iced champagne and fanning themselves after the excitement of the race. He walked out upon the lawn again, where the well-dressed gentlemen were also making up their books; and went along to the sacred place reserved for private carriages. Here they had hampers; and young men in fawn-colored coats were leaning over the shoulders of pretty young women, having flirtations with them, which he, perhaps, interpreted too simply. “Really,” said one pretty face’s owner, “this is more like Longchamps than I had supposed possible!”
“We are improving, Mrs. Malgam,” said the man. “New York will no longer be provincial, one of these days. And it is getting like Longchamps in more respects than one,” he added. “Have you seen that pretty woman just ahead of us with the cream-colored ponies?”
“Dear me, how interesting!” cried the lady, levelling her opera-glasses in the direction indicated; and James Starbuck followed her look with his eyes, as he stood beside the carriage. “It seems just like being abroad to see such people! She is handsome—and she’s awfully well dressed,” added the lady, candidly. “I never can get my woman to cut a dress for me like that. Who is she, Mr. Van Kull?”
“You had better ask Mr. Townley,” said the other.
“Ask Lucie Gower, you mean,” said a gentleman who had not yet spoken.
“You know very well that that is not true of poor Lucie,” answered the first; “and my cousin would not thank you.”
“Well, they call her Mrs. Beaumont, that’s all I know,” said the other, sulkily; but James did not hear the end of the altercation, for he pressed forward among the drags and carriages to the person indicated. As he did so, one of her cream-colored ponies reared and turned, and was about to crowd him against a dog-cart that was standing next in the row. Starbuck grasped the bridle and gave its mouth a savage wrench. “So it’s you, is it?” said he, facing his sister. “Mrs. Beaumont!”
Jenny gave a half-suppressed scream, as the pony still reared and plunged; and a gentleman who was beside her grasped the reins. “Who is it?” said he.
“I do not know,” said Jenny, looking full at James. “Some drunken fellow, I suppose.”
Starbuck started, as if he had been struck. Then he turned away, dropping the pony’s bridle. He walked back to the lawn, where he found Simpson, much the worse for liquor. The great race had been run, while Starbuck was not looking; and the favorite had lost. Simpson was quarrelsome and angry; and ended by begging James for the loan of a dollar, which he gave, and hurried back to the city. As he passed up Broadway, he looked curiously at the bulletin-boards before the newspaper-offices. A dense crowd was standing about each one; but Starbuck gathered the purport of the news from such messages as were passed out from the centre of the crowd. The strike had ended in a riot. He stopped at his rooms but for a moment, to get a small hand-bag; then he took a cab to the Jersey City ferry; here he boarded the Pennsylvania train.