She focussed her glasses on the moving throng in the members' enclosure, open for this meeting only, to non-subscribers in the way of soldiers, and their wives and sweethearts, and here and there she recognised someone she knew.
The Professor was cautioned on all sides to take care of himself, but Gay took possession of him, and hurried him off to the paddock to tout the horses for the first race. There were several walking round in a circle on the crest of the hill, and while Gay stood as close to them as she could get, checking the numbers on the lads' arm-badge with her card, her brother kept at a more than respectful distance. Presently a lad walking a horse up behind him, nearly frightened him out of his wits with a business-like "By y'r leave, please," and he executed a wild leap to safety, to the intense amusement of the onlookers.
Catching Gay's eye, he scuttled over to her, and tried to get her away from the charmed circle, prophesying hysterically a kick from one of the horses.
"Don't be absurd, Frank," she replied, watching with interest each one as it passed; "horses can't kick when they're walking. They're not cows."
The Professor remained unconvinced, however, and was greatly relieved when Gay moved off in the direction of the weighing-room to see the numbers and jockeys, but the frame with the mixture of figures and names conveyed nothing to his mind.
"Halloa! Chris rides No. 9 in this," Gay exclaimed, "let's see what it is. Here we are—Mr. M'Nab's Irish Knight, four-year-old, 10st. 7lb. I wish we could find Chris; it may be a good thing—what he calls a 'pinch.'"
At that moment Chris Hannen came out of the weighing-room. A thick frieze overcoat, cut to the knee, disclosed a thin kid workman-like pair of boots, he wore a white scarf round his throat, while his head was surmounted with a dark blue racing-cap. He was busy chatting with the owner of Irish Knight, but as he passed through the gate into the paddock, his quick eye noticed Gay, while a second astonished glance discovered the Professor.
He at once left his companion, and came quickly towards them.
"How are you, Gay?" he cried eagerly. "Morning, Professor! Lovely day for jumping, isn't it? Hope you won't be wanted" (the Professor shuddered). "Excuse my apparent rudeness in not taking off my cap, Gay, but I've been tied into it."
Gay thought, with a pang, how drawn he looked, "but how workman-like!" a moment after.