Gaynor passed hurriedly down the steps, seized Porter by the arm, and whispered in his ear, “Tell the judge yer name—that a b'y named Mayne rode Lauzanne. Quick now.”
Then he stepped up to Langdon. The latter had seen Alan Porter go up the steps, and realized he had made a mistake. Mike drew him inside the little enclosure that surrounded the stand.
“There's Alan Porter wit' the Stewards,” Gaynor whispered close to the man's face; “an' ye'll withdraw the objection at once. If ye don't ye'll have to settle wit' the Stewards fer tryin' to bribe the b'y Mayne to pull Lauzanne. And Shandy has owned up that he was to get five hundred dollars fer dosin' Lucretia. Ye'll withdraw now, or get ruled off fer life; besides, p'isinin' a horse is jail business; an' I'll take me oath before God I can prove this, too. Now go an' withdraw quick. Ye're a damn blackguard.”
Mike had meant to restrict himself to diplomatic pressure, but his Irish was up like a flash, and he couldn't resist the final expression of wrath.
A crowd of silent men had gathered about the box in a breathless wait. Fortunes depended upon the brief consultation that was being held between the Stewards.
As Alan Porter came down Langdon went up the steps with nervous haste. “I've made a mistake, gentlemen,” he said to the Stewards, “with your permission I'll withdraw the objection.”
“Yes, it's better that way,” returned one of the Stewards; “the best horse won, and that's what racing's for. It would be a pity to spoil such a grand race on a technicality.”
XXXVII
After his first burst of aboriginal glee, ecstatically uncouth as it was, Old Bill's joy over the victory of Lauzanne took on a milder form of expression.