“Why, there’s something doing in this one-horse little burg after all!” quietly remarked the smiling officer as his handful of marines turn and face the mob now fleeing in all directions. “Say, are the ladies all right? Good boys, I knew you’d look after them. Guess the rest of your Derby winners turned up in about time to turn us out.”
Now there was sudden relaxation from grave to gay. People rolled about in uncontrollable laughter, the tears streaming down their cheeks. Even the stolid marines smiled. And the cause for this unexpected merriment was Gubbins. There he stood in a black cap, but otherwise as nature made him. Finding all eyes directed on him, he assumed the colour known as salmon pink. However, his blushes were quickly hidden under a Newmarket coat, provided by someone who had sufficient control over his risibility to think intelligibly. None too soon was the youthful Gubbins covered up, for the ladies were now all anxiety to leave the racecourse and return to the safer protection of their own houses. The American marines and Sikhs escorted the ladies to their houses, guards were stationed and sentries posted about the town, and a somewhat anxious night passed off without further incident.
At an early hour next morning Foh arrived on horseback. He had ridden to Whang Chai and back, and had done many things during the night. He visited the various Consuls and principal business people of the community and explained that Ching and the other ringleaders of the riot had been captured and executed, that he had an efficient guard of fifteen hundred trusted soldiers then on their way to Ping Tu, and that for the prestige of all Europeans it was absolutely necessary that the races should be continued that day. The Europeans were at first doubtful, but they soon saw Foh’s arguments, and in due course the various wives had the proposal laid before them. To the everlasting credit of the tender sex be it told that not a woman hesitated. As the men thought it was the right thing to do, they all did it, and again the smart frocks from “home” adorned the grand-stand of the racecourse.
So far we have not understood why Gubbins made his opportune entry on Kwa Niu clad only in a black cap. The explanation discloses a little side-plot in the drama. In certain parts of the coast of England it used to be the practice of little children when going to bed to pray somewhat as follows: “Please, God, bless father! Please, God, bless mother; and please, God, send a wreck ashore before morning!” The prayer of these innocents possessed a counterpart in the feelings of some of the peaceable people of Ping Tu during race week. Their prayer, however, was that a rider might be thrown at the bend by the screw-pines in order that they might strip him of his coveted gaudy silk coat, his silk breeches, and good leather boots. To assist “providence” it occasionally happened that a jockey’s stirrup leathers were partly cut through with a sharp knife, so that on rounding a corner sharply one leather might give way and so unseat the rider. On this occasion they had chosen Gubbins for their victim, and his leathers were duly faked by his “mah foo.” Everything happened in due order for the benefit of the gentle Celestials. Kwa Niu was well behind the others, and threw his rider at the bend as desired. Gubbins got a nasty toss, and was for a few seconds unconscious, during which time he was stripped of everything except his cap. Suddenly regaining consciousness, he found himself surrounded by Chinese, and jumped up in great excitement, thinking he was about to be murdered. Fortunately for him, Kwa Niu was kicking and bucking around within a few yards. Wild with fear Gubbins rushed at the pony, vaulted into the saddle, and, as we know, went once round the course, and only managed to pull the brute up the second time he reached the grand-stand, where his arrival proved so opportune.
The second day of the races passed off with perfect quiet and order. Foh’s soldiers arrived in good time, and were more than sufficient to overawe the rabble. At last Mrs. British Consul stood up to give the prizes for the various races. The prizes for the first three races are given, and then comes the handsome bowl for the Derby.
“The Derby! Why, Kwa Niu was the only horse that finished!” says everyone, and the blushing Gubbins is pushed forward.
“Objection,” says the American Consul; “he never weighed in.”
“Go and weigh in,” says Shelford.
Of course it was quite unorthodox, but anyway Gubbins got his saddle and, amidst a laughing crowd of men, weighed in wearing a black cap only. Fortunately he had carried over weight, and as he stood his weight was exact. The decision was received with cheer upon cheer. Shelford had undoubtedly won the Derby, and Gubbins, hastily regaining his clothes, was carried before Mrs. British Consul.
Shyly he received the bowl, but when Mrs. Consul said, “I think your colours were pink with a black cap, Mr. Gubbins,” well, Mr. Gubbins’ colours might very well have been described as scarlet. “But we were all too upset to notice you,” kindly added the lady, “and, at all events, we think you and Kwa Niu saved our lives.”