* * * * *

Mrs. Woodburn’s good-bye to her daughter was cold as it was wistful.

At the garden-gate Boy turned and waved.

“Cheer, mum!” she cried.

Her mother, standing austerely on the steps of the house, did not respond.

“I shall be back on Saturday,” called the girl as she climbed into the buggy.

* * * * *

That was on the Monday.

On that day Boy and Albert and Billy Bluff took the young horse north, travelling all the way in his box.

At Euston it was evident something out of the way was forward.  There was hardly a crowd at the station, but expectant folk were gathered here and there in knots and there were more police than usual about.

The secret was soon out.

Jaggers, with the air of the Grand Inquisitor, appeared on the platform with his head-lad, Rushton.  The trainer entered into talk with a man whom Albert informed his mistress was a cop in plain clothes.

“Place swarms with ’em,” the youth whispered.  “And Ikey’s Own.  They’re takin’ no chances.”

In fact, Mocassin and her two stable-companions were travelling on the same train as the Putnam horse.

As Albert remarked, not without complacency: 

“One thing.  If there’s a smash we’re all in it.”

At Aintree the crowd, which somehow always knows, had gathered to see the crack.  They didn’t see much but four chestnut legs and a long tail; but what they saw was enough to satisfy them.  You could swaddle her like a corpse from muzzle to hocks, and from withers to fetlock, but the Queen of Kentucky’s walk was not to be mistaken.  And as she came out of her box on to the platform, treading daintily, the little gathering raised the familiar slogan that told she was betrayed.

Boy let the favourite get well away before she unboxed her horse.  There was nobody about by then but a small urchin who jeered: 

“Say, lydy! is yon what they call a camel-leopard?”

The little party had the road to themselves, and passed unheeded.

The Billjim Guard were escorting the favourite to the yard, and the crowd were escorting the Billjims.

When Four-Pound-the-Second reached the yard with his three satellites twenty minutes later, the backwash of the crowd still eddied and swirled about the entrance.

The policeman on the gate made a fuss about admitting Billy Bluff.  But the head yard-man, who knew Mat Woodburn’s daughter almost as well as he knew his own, interfered on her behalf.

“He’ll sleep in my horse’s box,” Boy explained.

“Won’t your horse sleep without him, Miss?” grinned the yard-man.

“Not so well,” answered the girl.

“Oh, let him in,” said the other.  “Pity to spoil that horse’s beauty sleep.  Might lose his looks.”

Boy could never bring herself to titter at the jokes of those whom it was expedient to placate.  Happily Albert was at hand to make amends, and he, to be sure, had no qualms of conscience.