"Of course I know you're mad on steeple-chasing," she said, tilting her nose in the air, "but you needn't be bigoted; it's not the only sport, and anyhow you can't deny that Mr. Mackrell can drive; almost as well as you can ride," she concluded generously.
Chris bowed.
"Carlton Mackrell is a brilliant whip," he agreed, though he made a mental note that it was about the only thing Mackrell could do. "Let's go and congratulate him."
They left the members' enclosure, and made their way by the side of the track to the stables, where they found Carlton Mackrell talking to one of his swipes. He came to meet them, and his dark face showed the pleasure he felt at Gay Lawless' congratulations.
"Thank you," he said, "I expected to win my heat. Did you back my horse?"
"Of course," cried the girl. "Evidently others besides you expected Billy Q. to win, for everyone was backing him. Although I got in early, I had to lay five to two on, to five shillings," she laughed. "It doesn't take very much money to paralyse the market, does it?"
Carlton Mackrell shook his head.
"No," he said, "the sight of gold creates a panic, and an owner does not dare back his horse personally, unless he's prepared to lay odds on what very often is not an even money chance. The ring think the business is inspired, you know," he laughed, "and begin to pinch the price at once. However, as I don't bet, it doesn't affect me, though I like my friends to help themselves whenever I run anything."
He turned to Chris Hannen, who was attentively studying a big bay horse with the eye of a connoisseur. "You don't often come trotting, do you?" he asked.
The two men had known each other for years, but the fact that they both admired Gay Lawless had not strengthened their friendship very considerably. Still both were sportsmen, and, appreciated each other's talents in their respective branches with a genuineness not met with outside sporting circles.