The wave was greeted by silence. A red bay thundered in the lead. Then came a demon, hard held, with open mouth, and number 3 shone from his raven side. Followed a flying squadron all packed together, their hoofs rolling like drums. And then came aching lengths, and my eyes filled with tears and something gripped my heart and squeezed it as Très Jolie, skimming like an eager swallow, fled past undaunted by that hopeless gap.
"Whar my baby at?" asked Uncle Jake. He had heard the groan and the silence, and fear was in his voice.
"Oh—Uncle Jake—" began Mrs. Dillon. "They—" her voice broke.
"Dey ain' left her at de post? Doan' tell me dat, Miss Sally!"
Mrs. Dillon nodded as though to eyes that saw. Uncle Jake seemed to feel it.
"How fah back? How fah back?" he demanded.
"She ain't got a chance, Uncle Jake!" said Blister, and dropped his head on his arm lying along the railing.
"How fah back?" insisted the old negro.
Blister raised his head and gazed.
"Twenty len'ths," he said, and dropped it again.