All jockeys struck her as
looking idiotic, doubtless, she said, because they were prevented from
growing bigger. This particular jockey was a man of forty, and with his
long, thin, deeply furrowed, hard, dead countenance, he looked like an
old shriveled-up child. His body was knotty and so reduced in size that
his blue jacket with its white sleeves looked as if it had been thrown
over a lay figure.
"No," she resumed as she walked away, "he would never make me very
happy, you know."
A mob of people were still crowding the course, the turf of which had
been wet and trampled on till it had grown black. In front of the two
telegraphs, which hung very high up on their cast-iron pillars, the
crowd were jostling together with upturned faces, uproariously greeting
the numbers of the different horses as an electric wire in connection
with the weighing room made them appear. Gentlemen were pointing at
programs: Pichenette had been scratched by his owner, and this caused
some noise. However, Nana did not do more than cross over the course
on Labordette's arm. The bell hanging on the flagstaff was ringing
persistently to warn people to leave the course.
"Ah, my little dears," she said as she got up into her landau again,
"their enclosure's all humbug!"
She was welcomed with acclamation; people around her clapped their
hands.
Pages:
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600