But they went right by him. They were interested in the horses now coming to the post for the forty-fourth running of the Belvedere Handicap. They hardly saw Heck at all.
"Sultan's Lady," said one. "I got a hun'red ona nose."
"Sultan's, stupid. Can't you talk English?"
"Miramar," insisted another with smug confidence.
A bell clanged. A shout went up from below. The horses began to run.
"Excuse me," Heck said.
But all eyes might as well have been glued to the turf. In spite of himself, Heck watched the brief pounding flurry of the horses' hooves. When it was over and the crowd below settled back into anxious whispering, a loudspeaker voice said:
"There is a photo-finish in the fifth race, ladies and gentlemen, with Sultan's Lady and Miramar neck and neck."
"Sultan's Lady," said one of the Clubhouse patrons.
"Miramar!" hotly contested the other.