As the train whirled him through Emerson, where
his mother lived, he could see the little drab cottage, and wondered
pathetically what the good woman would say if she knew her son was going
to a race meeting. At twelve he was in New York.
XXXIV
Mortimer found that he could take an "L" train to the Bridge, and
transfer there to another taking him direct to the course. At the
Bridge he was thrust into a motley crowd, eager, expectant, full of
joyous anticipation of assured good luck. He was but a tiny unit of
this many-voiced throng; he drifted a speck on the bosom of the flood
that poured into the waiting race train. He was tossed into a seat by
the swirling tide, and as the train moved he looked at his fellow-
passengers. There was a pleasant air of opulence all about him. Gold
chains of fair prominence, diamonds of lustrous hue, decorated the
always rotund figures. He fell to wondering why the men were all of a
gross physique; why did the ladies wear dresses of such interminable
variety of color; from whence came the money for this plethora of rich
apparel?
The race literature that had come Mortimer's way had generally dealt
with the unfortunate part of racing. Somehow he had got the impression
that everybody lost money at it.
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