“Into place!” shouted a stentorian voice.
“Ready?”
“One—two—Boom!”
They were off in fine style, Jerome quickly showing the lead, and Rube gaining gradually upon him towards the middle of the course. To one spectator it was more interesting than the sword-dance, more exciting than a steeple-chase. But the eager spectators at the starting place could see very little beyond a certain point, owing to the crowd of boys and men which lined the sides of the track and closed up as the runners passed. They could hear vociferous yelling and screaming, sometimes the outcry, “Devonhough ahead!” and then, again, “Hurrah for Rutland!” and, at the last, a tremendous whooping and cheering and clapping of hands, in which no name was at first distinguishable. Then, amid the unbounded enthusiasm of the multitude, the victor was lifted above the heads of the crowd and brought back in triumph.
Mell had scarcely moved from the spot where Rube left her. She had 280 had some time for reflection, and had profited by it, to such an extent, that she now felt quite miserable. That was the way with Mell, and continues to be the way with Mell’s kind. They make a practice of hitching together the cart of Unthought and the sure-footed beast Think-twice; the cart in front, the horse in the rear; and if, under such circumstances the poor brute, nine times out of ten, lands his living freight into very hot water, too hot for their tender feelings, who is to blame for it?
Some very strange thoughts coursed through the girl’s mind. Now, suppose it was Rube seated up there on the heads of an idolizing populace, and it became incumbent upon her to fulfill that promise so rashly and foolishly given, could she do it? No! No! She would rather live a thousand years and scratch an old maid’s head every hour in all those years, than marry Rube Rutland!
It made her sick to think about it; every nerve in her body recoiled; every good instinct within her lifted up a dissentient voice.
“Can’t you see who it is?” She inquired hoarsely of her nearest neighbor, a much be-banged girl, who peered above the crowd from the top of a dry-goods box, with the cute expression of a fluffy-faced puppy, “Can’t you see?”
“Not distinctly yet, but I think it is that young stranger, Rube Rutland’s friend; I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Thank God!” muttered Mell. She was ambitious, but she was not yet the hardened thing that ambition makes.