The Hundredth Chance
TextEPILOGUE
THE FINISH
"The black colt leads! The black colt leads! He wins! He wins! He wins!"
A great shout went up from the straining multitude as The Hundredth Chance, ridden by Sam Vickers, shot past the winning-post three lengths ahead of the horse behind. It was a sensational victory, for it was his maiden race, and the crowd yelled themselves hoarse over it, cheering and cheering again till the black colt came forth in a welter of sweat and foam to gather his laurels, still carrying his jockey and led by his owner, Jake Bolton.
He bore himself proudly, as if fully conscious of the distinction he had won. Jake looked proud too. He stuffed some sugar between the wet lips as he came, and his hand caressed the streaming neck. It was a popular meeting, and it was plainly a popular victory, though the favourite had not proved the winner. Jake Bolton's name went from mouth to mouth, and the throng cheered him to the echo. He smiled his open, pleasant smile in answer. He had been looking to this moment for the past two years, he had worked hard for it; and his trust in The Hundredth Chance had been vindicated, his labour rewarded. He knew that yet greater victories lay before his favourite. The Hundredth Chance was a born winner. He would be famous.
Back in the paddock a slim, boyish figure leaped to meet him. "Jake, he's a stunner! Let me hold him a minute, Jake! Well done, Sam! Well done!"
Sam grinned from ear to ear as he dropped from the saddle. "Pretty sight, weren't it, Sir Bernard?"
"Best I've ever seen!" declared Bunny enthusiastically. He led the black colt proudly after his jockey for a few paces, then gave him up and went back to Jake. "Old feller, I'm so jolly bucked," he said, hugging his arm, "I want to dance on my head. Do you know what I heard a chap say of you just now-a chap who knew too? He said, 'There goes the Lynx-one of the straightest men on the Turf.' It sounded just fine. I wanted to go and shake hands with him."
Jake laughed, a quiet satisfied laugh. "Was Maud pleased?"
"Oh! rather! She's going home now, said I was to tell you; said she'd save up and congratulate you in private."
"That so?" said Jake.
He disengaged himself from Bunny and went about his business, but the smile lingered in his eyes for the rest of the afternoon. And it was the smile of a man who grasps his heart's desire.
There was a white house on one of the great rolling downs behind the Graydown race-course, a low, white house with gabled roofs and dark green shutters. There were woodland trees about it, and a terraced garden bright with many spring flowers.
Behind it lay the racing-stables, also white, – model stables, the pride of Jake's heart. He seldom approached the house by any other route. But as he passed between the long, orderly buildings on that particular evening after his horse's victory, he did not linger. Straight to the house he went, and straight within, pausing only in the wide, square hall to threw down hat and whip ere he passed on, guided by the notes of a piano, to a room that overlooked the garden and the whole sweep of hill-side beyond.
She did not hear him enter, albeit she was playing softly, a dreamy melody that had in it something of dawning gladness and of infinite hope. Only Chops, the red setter, lying by the open French window, looked up and wagged a noiseless welcome. Then as he reached her, she caught the jingle of his spurs and in a moment she had turned to meet him with a vivid smile of eagerness.
"Oh, Jake, I am so glad-so glad!"
He put his arms about her as she sat, holding the flushed face upturned to his. "What's that you're playing, my girl? Not a pæan of thanksgiving!"
Her eyelids fluttered under his look. She laughed faintly. She offered him her lips with just a hint of shyness. He kissed her, but he continued to look at her with an intent glitter in his eyes. "You're glad, are you?" he said. "Real glad?"
Her arms clung about his neck. "Yes, real glad, Jake. I know you call The Hundredth Chance your luck. I was horribly anxious lest-lest he should lose after all."
He smiled a little. "What if he had? Think I can't stand up to a loss?"
She lifted her eyes to his for a moment, but they fell almost immediately. "No. To use your own language, I think you're just fine. But-but all the same, I've been saving up a little consolation for you in case you needed it."
"That so?" said Jake. He spoke very softly through lips that were suddenly tender. "Well, let's imagine I'm in need of consolation! I'd enjoy to be consoled by you."
She laughed again that faint, shy laugh, and, freeing one hand, began to feel over the keys of the piano, striking a soft chord here and there.
Jake stood for a moment or two, then squarely bent, bringing his face on a level with hers.
She made a slight gesture of protest, and then very suddenly, as if compelled, she raised her eyes fully to his.
"You once told me you'd enjoy-something quite different," she said.
The red-brown eyes gazed deeply into hers. "And-good land-how shocked you were!" he said. "You didn't view yourself as a plain man's wife in those days, my princess. Reckon you hated the plain man pretty badly for teaching you the meaning of the word."
She laid one hand against his breast. Her eyes were of that intense blueness that comes from the heart of a sapphire. "And now," she said, "I love him better every day-every night."
His big hand closed upon her wrist. He drew a great breath. "Ah!" he said.
She went on, albeit her lips were quivering. "I don't need to tell you that, do I? You know it so well. I don't think I really need to tell you-of this other thing either-of this big, big gift that is coming to us. Oh, Jake, dear Jake, I have so hoped-so hoped!"
He held her closer. "My own girl! Guess you'll be happy now!" he whispered.
She smiled at him through tears. "No, not for my own sake, – for yours-for yours!"
"For mine!" he said. "Haven't you given me all the world and then some?"
She uttered a trembling laugh. "I've given you lots that you didn't want to take-things that have cost me nothing. But this-this is different. And-it's the thing you wanted."
He clasped her to him almost fiercely. "My girl, I want nothing-no one-but you!"
She clung to him with a tenseness that was passionate. "That is what I wanted to say to you, my darling. You will always be first-first-first. Dr. Capper once told me that-that my frog would turn into a prince some day. And-dear-he was right. You are the prince of my heart-for ever. I love you as-as I never thought it was humanly possible to love."
"Maybe it's not-all human," he whispered, with lips that moved against her own.
"You are right," she whispered back. "It is Divine. The perfect Gift. But it only comes to those who give-without measure-not counting the cost-rejoicing only in the power to give-till it all comes back a thousandfold-a thousandfold." Her voice thrilled, her arms clung closer. "I once heard a man preach about that. And at the end he said, 'It is then that the ploughman overtakes the reaper, for ploughman and reaper are one.' Jake, I think that man spoke a great truth. You and I have done some heavy ploughing, but we are beginning to be reapers now." Her lips suddenly pressed his closely, lingeringly. Her tears were gone. "It's good to reap our own harvest, isn't it, Jake?" she murmured. "Yours and mine together?"
And Jake answered her in his own language, his voice very soft and slow, his eyes gazing straight into hers, seeing her soul. "Sure!" he said. "Sure!"