The aim of all the drivers was to poach a start, and they turned, and came up to their marks with the pace up, so that at the sound of the "off" bell their horses were in their stride. The flag-man opposite each, raised his flag the moment the horse he was watching was on his mark, and lowered it when he had overstepped it.
After five or six attempts, "Uncle," the starter, with his finger on the trigger of his revolver, saw that all the flags were raised at the same time, and in a second, bang! and they were off. Gay's eyes were fixed on Carlton Mackrell.
"He's well away," she announced eagerly.
There were few better hands at getting off smartly than Mackrell, and he was always fairly going as he reached his distance, timing to a nicety the manœuvrings of his rivals in front.
"That's the one advantage of being 'scratch,'" he always said, "you can see what the others are doing."
In the first round he caught four of the leaders, though one, a hobbled pacer under saddle, ridden by a small boy, with a start of fifty yards, was apparently keeping it. Going round the back stretch the second time, Carlton Mackrell set his horse going, and began to go after the leader. Approaching the straight, shouts of "Billy Q." and "Sam Sly" rent the air, while the two horses were home-locked together.
Those who knew Carlton Mackrell's style of driving, however, and how he liked to come with a rush on the post, slipped down off the stand and backed him. Twenty yards from the post—too late, it appeared to Gay, who was exhorting him under her breath to "go on"—he made his effort. It was all over in a few strides, and Billy Q. had won.
Gay walked to the gate of the enclosure, followed by Chris, and waited while Carlton Mackrell got down. In a few minutes the flag was hung out of the judge's box and the "all right" shouted to the ring. Emerging from the stable, he handed his rugged-up winner to an attendant, and slipping on his overcoat, he walked along the track, his eyes on the ground, thinking, not of his recent triumph, but of Gay Lawless. By nature a most undemonstrative man, he rarely showed visibly any emotion, either on the course or in private, but his colour rose as he thought what a good sort Gay was, what a pal she'd make to the right man. But who was the right man? Had he arrived yet, and if so, was he personified in Chris Hannen, or had he, Carlton Mackrell, any chance? He started, as close at hand Gay's soft, clear voice exclaimed:
"Well done again, Mr. Mackrell! You drew it rather fine, though, didn't you? I thought you wouldn't quite get there, and I was so excited."
Carlton stopped, his features breaking into one of those rare smiles that transformed his dark, handsome face.