“Let go my arm!” Hilary said, in a hoarse whisper, his eyes murderous.
Billy held him fast. “Not until you give me a gentleman’s word you won’t interfere,” he said.
Allys looked at him amazed, enchanted. Here was no boy to be played with, petted and coaxed from his beliefs—rather a man standing for what he held the right with the fire and strength of youth.
Adair caught Hilary on the other side, saying under breath: “Hold still, Rich! You must! The wild man from Borneo is right this time. It would be horribly bad form if you said a questioning word—and, anyway, the judges saw—what we did.”
Hilary turned upon Billy a look that made Allys hide her eyes, but nodded shortly, and strode away, not toward the stand. Billy turned to shield Allys, until by the stunned silence falling on the course, he knew the boards were going up—with the Flower’s number at the top of them.
Then he took the fence in front at a flying leap, and came to himself only when he had both arms about the Flower’s neck, his face pressed to it, and tears raining, as he whispered: “You won, lady! You had to! You wouldn’t let Haw Bush be sold over the major’s head. Hang the mortgages now—we’ll save him, you and I! And you shall never, never run another race!”
As the Flower was led away to receive other flowers, the hideous horseshoe penalty of victory, the crowd was astounded to see in the middle of the course a tall youngster in loud plaids, leaping, shouting, hugging himself, laughing and crying in the same breath.
And this was what he shouted: “The blood of Blink Bonny! Hurrah! hurrah! Beat it if you can! Hurrah for Haw Bush! For Major Meriwether! For Tim! For Blink Bonny! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
Allys watched him, smiling roguishly. “Billy is ridiculously young,” she said to the constant Adair.
Adair looked glum. He knew, and knew she knew, that the boy they had welcomed was of full man’s age—quite old enough, in fact, to be married.