The rest of the people on the coach were making a
great deal of noise, he remembered, but he, who had more to lose than
any one or all of them together, had stood quite still with his feet
on the wheel and his back against the box-seat, and with his hands
sunk into his pockets and the nails cutting through his gloves. The
specks grew into horses with bits of color on them, and then the deep
muttering roar of the crowd merged into one great shout, and swelled
and grew into sharper, quicker, impatient cries, as the horses turned
into the stretch with only their heads showing toward the goal. Some
of the people were shouting "Firefly!" and others were calling on
"Vixen!" and others, who had their glasses up, cried "Trouble leads!"
but he only waited until he could distinguish the Norton colors, with
his lips pressed tightly together. Then they came so close that their
hoofs echoed as loudly as when horses gallop over a bridge, and from
among the leaders Siren's beautiful head and shoulders showed like
sealskin in the sun, and the boy on her back leaned forward and
touched her gently with his hand, as they had so often seen him do on
the downs, and Siren, as though he had touched a spring, leaped
forward with her head shooting back and out, like a piston-rod that
has broken loose from its fastening and beats the air, while the
jockey sat motionless, with his right arm hanging at his side as
limply as though it were broken, and with his left moving forward and
back in time with the desperate strokes of the horse's head.
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