Lines of empty carriages and traps curved down upon the
winding road, and a black crowd surged round the door of the ruined
factory. The seats, as a huge placard announced, were five shillings,
three shillings, and a shilling, with half-price for dogs. The takings,
deducting expenses, were to go to the winner, and it was already evident
that a larger stake than a hundred pounds was in question. A babel of
voices rose from the door, The workers wished to bring their dogs in
free. The men scuffled. The dogs barked. The crowd was a whirling,
eddying pool surging with a roar up to the narrow cleft which was its
only outlet.
The brake, with its salmon-coloured streamers and four reeking horses,
stood empty before the door of the office; Wilson, Purvis, Fawcett and
Montgomery passed in.
There was a large, bare room inside with square, clean patches upon the
grimy walls, where pictures and almanacs had once hung. Worn linoleum
covered the floor, but there was no furniture save some benches and a
deal table with an ewer and a basin upon it. Two of the corners were
curtained off. In the middle of the room was a weighing-chair.
A hugely fat man, with a salmon tie and a blue waistcoat with birds'-eye
spots, came bustling up to them. It was Armitage, the butcher and
grazier, well known for miles round as a warm man, and the most liberal
patron of sport in the Riding.
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