"Double fare if you beat that!" Denis shouted.
"Same here!" yelled Ted.
Off they went.
It was a close and very exciting race. Denis's horse seemed the likeliest to win at first. He led all along Regent Street; then in a block at the Circus Ted's driver manoeuvred cleverly and got in front. Then for a while they raced neck by neck. Round the corners they rocked.
"By Jove, this chap can drive!" ejaculated Ted, as they rocked round a corner, shaving the curb, and gaining a yard or two on the other hansom. From that came fragments of angry shouts. "Idiot!—drive a cow!—afraid of— 'Tisn't a funeral, man!"
"This is Henley Road," cried Nell, "and we're still leading!"
There was a final mad and unlawful spurt, and Ted's hansom leading by a yard or two, they dashed up in style before a pair of incredulous, horrified eyes watching their mad approach from Mrs. Barclay's drawing-room window. Moreover, the window was open, and a pair of ears, as incredulous and horrified as the eyes, listened to a babel of laughter and talk, to arguments on the horses' and drivers' merits.
Nell broke in suddenly, "Good gracious, how are we to get in?"
There was a pause.
"Allow me to scratchulate my head and ruminate," Denis observed.