Min Toplady was there, and greeted Gay with effusion when the latter went over to speak to her, but nervously, too, for those "snapping fiends," as she called them, who pursued Gay everywhere, more than ever brought home to Min the conviction that this Trotting business was a hideous mistake on the part of so young a girl, and that Gay's daring escapade had cheapened, and inflicted a distinct loss of prestige on her. Thanks, however, to the countenance afforded by Captain Bulteel and his wife, as they made a tour of the track, she was everywhere received with a silence that passed for respect, instead of the familiar badinage that Min dreaded, though if Gay appeared to notice nothing, she was really having a very bad quarter of an hour, and longing for it to be over. Just before the second race, she and Rensslaer strolled quietly down to the rails to investigate the cause of a long delay, which was really owing to the drivers all jockeying for a good start, when the face of a little man in orange, driving a handsome pacer, suddenly became such a vivid study in emotions of fear, astonishment, and horror, as made Gay glance quickly at her companion for an explanation. "It is only that he thought me in Paris," said Rensslaer drily, "so is driving my private sulky that I keep here for occasional use," and Gay's face changed as she thought of that delicious unlawful drive of hers, when Brusher Tugwood had, unknown to her, borrowed Rensslaer's wagon, and its owner by accident had seen her, and so a new and delightful friendship had come into her life. Anyway, her mania had not been all loss--and then, as much against his will, owing to false starts, the guilty little man passed, and repassed them, a fresh expression on his face every time, and all intensely diverting, Gay laughed more heartily than she had done for days past. "What will you do to him?" she inquired, wiping her eyes, when at last the horses had started, the lightness and grace of Rensslaer's wagon showing in favourable contrast to the clumsy make of the English ones, but he only shook his head; she knew well enough he would do nothing. They leaned forward, watching the race, and soon it was apparent that a collision was inevitable, as the man in the orange jacket unfairly overhauled the leader; the next moment, the wheels of both sulkies locked, and the driver of the one "fouled," fell heavily on the track. "Badly hurt, I'm afraid," said Rensslaer, and Gay turned pale as she saw through her glasses the faces of the crowd that had closed round the prostrate man. Almost at the same moment, a cheer rang out, for the driverless horse decided to race on his own account, pacing past in grand style, and going much better on his own, than when under control. It really was a remarkably pretty sight as he went round the course four times at the rate of 2.40 a mile, before he caught a wheel, and was easily stopped.