"Expect me when you see me," she said maliciously as she made for the door, "and don't be surprised if I return in pads. There's sometimes an accident at Trotting, you know."
The Professor ambled towards her, shaking his head apprehensively, but Gay was half-way upstairs. She had only just time to catch her train, and would get down to Inigo Court by half-past three, with time enough to give the horses their work out round the track.
Tugwood had promised to borrow a speed wagon of a different pattern for her to drive in, for her disregard of public opinion did not go to the length of perching on a seat the size of a soup plate, with her legs stuck out on either side of the horse, which was the usual mode of progression.
On the journey down, she read the Trotting World, a journal devoted to the interests of the sport, and was delighted to find a paragraph about herself and Trotters in it.
"If a few more people of Miss Lawless' and Mr. Carlton Mackrell's class and position could be induced to patronise Trotting," she read, "the sport would soon assume its proper standing, and become, as in America, a national pastime."
Gay walked briskly along the country road leading to Inigo Court, and made her way to the stables. There she found Tugwood in Silver Streak's box, the horse already harnessed, and ready to be put to the wagon.
"Horses all right, Tugwood?" Gay asked, pulling on her driving gloves—thick bus-driver's gloves they were, bought on Carlton Mackrell's recommendation.
"Never better, miss, thank'ee. Silver Streak don't want too much work to-day, with 'is race so near, an' 'e's pretty fit. I 'ad 'im out early this mornin', just to work off any stiffness 'e might 'ave after a good spin against the watch yesterday. A mile easy at 'arf-speed, at a three-minute gait, is about all 'e wants now."
Gay laughed.
"I hope I shall be able to steady him," she said. "He does 'take hold' a bit sometimes, doesn't he?"