“Look out,” he exclaimed suddenly, “they’re off.”
Simultaneously a voice near me said, “The King’s calling you,” and I began to run. Immediately the hounds were slipped from the leash, and the hunt settled down in my wake. The ship began to sway from side to side, and the roaring grew louder and louder. Still I ran, flashing past the booths, past upturned umbrellas with cards scattered over them, past the stewards’ enclosure, past the Royal Box. The thundering grew louder and more insistent. I was flying along the track with the whole field plunging after me. Hoarse cries. I redouble my efforts. My head is going to burst. The Royal Box whizzes past again. The winning post. I’m falling....
A long time afterwards, a voice said:
“He’s quite all right. A touch of heat-stroke is nothing, really, you know. Quiet. Couple of days in bed.”
I opened my eyes.
“Sir Joseph Lyons——” I began.
“All right,” said the doctor, “you shut up.”
“I’ve promised to go to the Derby,” I protested.
“Next year,” replied the doctor. “Just drink this, will you?”