Once more the competitors crouched over the scratch.
“All set? Go!”
Like the releasing of a whirlwind the four runners spring from the scratch, La Belle, whose specialty is his “get away,” in front, Fullerton and Cameron in second place, Cahill a close third. A blanket would cover them all. A tumult of cheers from the friends of the various runners follows them along their brief course.
“Who is it? Who is it?” cries Mandy breathlessly, clutching Mack by the arm.
“Cameron, I swear!” roars Mack, pushing his way through the crowd to the judges.
“No! No! La Belle! La Belle!” cried the Frenchman's backers from the city. The judges are apparently in dispute.
“I swear it is Cameron!” roars Mack again in their ears, his eyes aflame and his face alight with a fierce and triumphant joy. “It is Cameron I am telling you!”
“Oh, get out, you big bluffer!” cries a thin-faced man, pressing close upon the judges. “It is La Belle by a mile!”
“By a mile, is it?” shouts Mack. “Then go and hunt your man!” and with a swift motion his big hand falls upon the thin face and sweeps it clear out of view, the man bearing it coming to his feet in a white fury some paces away. A second look at Mack, however, calms his rage, and from a distance he continues leaping and yelling “La Belle! La Belle!”
After a few moments' consultation the result is announced.