“He’d have done nothing of the sort! Now you will have to walk back or crowd in with us. That rascal will hang about here until after the races end, then pick up the highest bidder for his rickety old chaise back to the city. If he had been made to wait for his fee he would have been too glad to take you back as agreed upon.”
“Never mind, Dalky, you shall sit upon my knee!” laughed Eleanor, teasingly.
“You may regret this kindly offer, Nolla, when the long dusty trip begins,” retorted Mr. Dalken.
But further argument on the situation was interrupted by a vendor of cocoanut juice. Closely following this peddler came a bookmaker who had been forbidden an entrance to the course. He was sent the way of the vendor of drinks; and then came a gayly garbed black who invited the party to win great stakes at a new game—but it was merely a decoy of the three-card monte gamble.
Accompanied on both sides by barkers for refreshments, by touts, and by every sort of vendor of anything salable, the Dalken party finally found it possible to reach the entrance gate. Soon after passing through here, the troublesome peddlers were left behind, but a new form of buzzard came to annoy. These were the professional bookmakers and licensed gamblers who hoped to turn a dishonest dollar their way.
In threading a trail to the Grand Stand, Jack led his party past family groups that sat under the trees and picnicked gayly until the gong should call all to the roped-off line that marked the course. The Grand Stand, painted white and decked in many-hued flags of friendly nations, was reached after many side-steppings and turns. Here the girls found army officers, professional men from Havana, and a tableau of fashionably dressed women with fans and parasols galore.
As the horses were paraded past the Grand Stand, and their gayly decked black jockeys acknowledged the waving hands and applause of the ladies to their favorites in the race, Polly turned to Eleanor and said: “Dear me, I wish I could bet!”
“You can,” returned Eleanor. “Let’s call Jack and tell him.”
Jack heard and grinned. “Which is your favorite, Poll?”
“See this one on the programme—his name is Will o’ the Wisp. Such a pretty name!”