But evidently the professional betting men were a new growth since
the mid-nineteenth century. They were just beginning to assemble,
wiping their mouths from the oozings of the last potation; some, the
aristocrats of their calling, like sporting peers in dress and
appearance; others like knock-about actors on the music-hall stage.
The generality were remarkably similar to ordinary city men or to
the hansom-cab drivers of twenty years ago.
In the very front of the crowd on the Grand Stand side, leaning with
her elbows on the wooden rail, she descried Emily Davison. Vivie
edged and sidled through the crowd and touched her on the shoulder.
Emily looked up with a start, surprised at seeing the friendly face
of a young man, till she recognized Vivie by her voice. "Dear
Emily," said Vivie, "you look so tired. Aren't you over-trying your
strength? I don't know what you have in hand, but why not postpone
your action till you are quite strong again?"
"I shall never be stronger than I am to-day and it can't be
postponed, cost me what it will," was the reply, while the sad eyes
looked away across the course.
"Well," said Vivie, "I wanted you to know that I was close by,
prepared to back you up if need be. And there are others of our
Union about the place. That young man over there talking to the
policeman is really A---- K---- though she is supposed to be in
prison.
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