XXXIV
Mortimer found that he could take an “L” train to the Bridge, and transfer there to another taking him direct to the course. At the Bridge he was thrust into a motley crowd, eager, expectant, full of joyous anticipation of assured good luck. He was but a tiny unit of this many-voiced throng; he drifted a speck on the bosom of the flood that poured into the waiting race train. He was tossed into a seat by the swirling tide, and as the train moved he looked at his fellow-passengers. There was a pleasant air of opulence all about him. Gold chains of fair prominence, diamonds of lustrous hue, decorated the always rotund figures. He fell to wondering why the men were all of a gross physique; why did the ladies wear dresses of such interminable variety of color; from whence came the money for this plethora of rich apparel?
The race literature that had come Mortimer's way had generally dealt with the unfortunate part of racing. Somehow he had got the impression that everybody lost money at it. He was sure Alan Porter had, also the father.
True, on the train were some bearing undeniable evidences of poverty; but not many. One man of this latter unfortunate aspect sat next him. His whole appearance was suggestive of the shady side of life. With the industry of a student he pored over a disheveled sporting paper for half an hour, then throwing it under the seat he cast a furtive look at his neighbor, and presently said, “Dere'll be big fields to-day.”
“That's too bad,” Mortimer answered, through ignorance, thinking that the other referred to perhaps a considerable walk across country to reach the course.
“I like it,” declared the man of sad drapery; “it means long odds if you're next somethin' good.”
Mortimer confined his remarks to a brief “Oh!” for the other man might as well have been speaking Choctaw.
“Have you doped 'em out for de Derby?” asked the stranger.
Mortimer shook his head. Whatever it was it was connected with horse racing, and he felt sure that he hadn't done it.