And then suddenly, with the swiftness
of a moving picture, in the very moment of his victory, Beldame
crept up on the favorite, drew alongside, drew ahead passed him,
and left him beaten. It was at the mile.
The night before a man had risen in a theatre and said to two
thousand people: "The favorite will lead for the mile, and give way
to Beldame." Could they have believed him, the men who now cursed
themselves might for the rest of their lives have lived upon their
winnings. Those who had followed his prophecy faithfully,
superstitiously, now shrieked in happy, riotous
self-congratulation. "At the MILE!" they yelled. "He TOLD you, at
the MILE!" They turned toward Carter and shook Panama hats at him.
"Oh, you Carter!" they shrieked lovingly.
It was more than a race the crowd was watching now, it was the
working out of a promise. And when Beldame stood off Proper's rush,
and Proper fell to second, and First Mason followed three lengths
in the rear, and in that order they flashed under the wire, the
yells were not that a race had been won, but that a prophecy had
been fulfilled.
Of the thousands that cheered Carter and fell upon him and indeed
did tear his clothes off his back, one of his friends alone was
sufficiently unselfish to think of what it might, mean to Carter.
"Champ!" roared his friend, pounding him on both shoulders.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61