Mrs. Stansbury, who sat on the other side of Geraldine, looked round, and exclaimed, gayly:
"They are calling you, Mr. Hawthorne. Why don't you go?"
"I prefer remaining here," he smiled back, though a slight flush rose to his brow as the calls continued more clamorously:
"Hawthorne! Hawthorne! Hawthorne!"
All eyes turned on him as he sat unmoved, and a delegation of firemen came to insist on his joining the race.
"Oh, do go, Mr. Hawthorne. I think it will be grand to join the race!" exclaimed Geraldine, enthusiastically, and he rose at once like a gallant knight who has no other wish than to do the behest of his lady-love.
Mrs. Stansbury whispered as he went away:
"He will win the race for them. He is a magnificent athlete, my husband says. And as for horses—well, you should see him control them! They love and obey him like a master, and he has a passion for them. He is a splendid fellow, though there is something rather mysterious about him. He has been driver for No. 17 two years, yet no one knows where he came from or aught about his family. But he is educated above his position, and has betrayed that he has lived abroad. We think he is English or Irish—perhaps a mixture of both. But, anyway, he is just magnificent, and the men and the horses both worship him alike. He has been a hero at dozens of fires, and has several medals of honor, but he will not accept promotion. He says he loves the horses, and will not give up driving. But look! the team is about to start!"
Every word she uttered only made Geraldine love Hawthorne more dearly, for what woman does not love a hero?
Geraldine watched the contest with flashing eyes; but, needless to say, she saw but one man, and she soon realized that the most thunderous applause was given to him.