"Fouled me," he said. "Filthy lot, anyhow. Wonder they didn't walk
on me when I was down." He turned to the grounds-keeper, who had
come up. "You ought to know better than to let those fellows cut up
this turf," he said angrily. "What're you here for anyhow?"
But he was suddenly very sick. He looked at Lily, his face drawn and
blanched.
"Got me right," he muttered. "I--"
"Get into my car," said Akers, not too amiably. "I'll drive you to
the stables. I'll be back, Miss Cardew."
Lily went back to the car and sat down. She was shocked and startled,
but she was strangely excited. The crowd had beaten Pink, but it
had obeyed Louis Akers like a master. He was a man. He was a strong
man. He must be built of iron. Mentally she saw him again, driving
recklessly over the turf, throwing the men to right and left, hoarse
with anger, tall, dominant, powerful.
It was more important that a man be a man than that he be a gentleman.
After a little he drove back across the field, sending the car
forward again at reckless speed. Some vision of her grandfather,
watching the machine careening over the still soft and spongy turf
and leaving deep tracks behind it, made her smile.
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