“All ready?” Jim queried. “Toe the line!”
The course was across a small paddock near the house—a distance of about thirty yards—and the competitors were ranged up with no little difficulty. Luckily, the line was a wide one, admitting of considerable space between each starter, or the send-off might have been inextricably confused. However, they were all arranged at last, and Jim, in a stentorian voice, gave the word to “Go.”
As the signal was given, the drivers urged on their steeds according to their judgment, and with magnificent results.
First to get off the line were the wallabies and the kangaroo. They fled, each his several way, and after them went their drivers, in great haste. The kangaroo had all the best of the start. So remarkable was his bound that he twitched his reins quite out of Norah’s hands, and made for the fence of the paddock. It was an open one, which let him through easily. The wallabies, seeing his shining success, followed his course, and midway managed to entangle their reins, at which Wally and Harry were wildly hauling. Confusion became disorder, and the wallabies at length reduced themselves to a tangle, out of which they had to be assisted by means of Harry’s pocket knife.
Jim had no luck. The parrot went off well, but very soon seemed to regret his rashness and, despite all Jim’s endeavours, returned with solemnity to the start, where he paused and talked fluently in the mixed language that was all his own. In desperation Jim tried to pull him along, but Fudge simply walked round and round him, until he had exhausted his driver’s patience, and was “turned out.”
The most spirited of the competitors were decidedly the cockatoo and Tim. They were panting for each other’s blood from the start, and before they had been urged over a quarter of the way they found an opportunity of warfare, and seized it simultaneously. Then the air grew murky with sound—cockatoo shrieks, mingled with cat calls and fluent Chinese, cutting across Hogg’s good, broad Scots. Naturally, the strings of the harness became fatally twisted immediately, and soon the combatants were bound together with a firmness which not all the efforts of their drivers could undo. A sudden movement of the pair made Lee Wing spring back hastily, whereupon he tripped and stumbled violently against Hogg.
Hogg’s temper was at vanishing point, and this was the last straw.
“Ye pig-tailed image!” he exclaimed furiously. Drawing back, he aimed a blow at Lee Wing, which would have effectively put that gentle Mongolian out of the race had he not dodged quickly. He shouted something in his own language, which was evidently of no complimentary nature, and hurled himself like a yellow tornado upon the angry Scotsman. They struck out at each other with all possible ill-will, but their science was much impeded by the fact that the cat and cockatoo were fighting fiercely amongst their legs. Finally Lee Wing tripped over Tim, and sat down abruptly, receiving as he did so an impassioned peck from Caesar which elicited from him a loud yell of anguish. Hogg, attempting to follow up his advantage, was checked suddenly by Jim, who left his parrot to its own devices, and arrived on the scene at full gallop.
“You are a blessed pair of duffers!” said Jim wrathfully. “Look here, if father catches you fighting there’ll be the most awful row—and I’ll be in it too, what’s worse. Clear out, for goodness’ sake, before he comes along, and don’t get in each others’ road again!” and each nursing bitterness in his heart, the rival gardeners returned to their respective beds of roses and onions.
Left to their own devices, the yellow cat and the cockatoo departed also, in a turmoil of wrath, with fur and feathers flying in equal proportions. Eventually Tim found discretion the better part of valour and scurried away to the safe shelter of the kitchen, pursued by Caesar with loud shrieks of defiance and victory—sounds of joyful triumph which lasted long after he had regained his perch and been securely fastened by the leg with his hated chain.