ear the excitement increased, figures
darted here, there and everywhere, the bobbing, brightly coloured hats
of the women in the great slanting field of the grandstand suggesting
bunches of flowers agitated by the breeze. Then the horses paraded in a
thoroughbred fashion, as if they appreciated their lengthy pedigrees and
understood their importance.

At last the splendid animals were lined up across the track, their small
jockeys in their brilliantly coloured jackets hunched up like monkeys on
their backs. Then the enormous crowd was quiet, the band was still, even
the noisy programme venders ceased calling their wares, and the
photographer stood quietly beside his camera, the motor humming, his
hand on the switch that starts the internal machinery. Suddenly the
starter dropped his arm, the barring gate flew up, and the horses sprang
forward. "They're off!" came from a thousand throats in unison. The band
struck up a lively air, and the vast assemblage watched with excited
eyes the flying horses. As the horses swept on round the turn and down
the back stretch the people seemed to be drawn from their seats, and by
the time the racers made the turn leading into the home-stretch almost
every one was standing and the roar of yelling voices was deafening.

All this time the photographer kept his eyes on his machine, which was
rattling like a rapidly beaten drum, the cyclopean eye of the camera
making impressions on a sensitised film-ribbon at the rate of forty a
second, and every movement of the flying legs of the urging jockeys,
even the puffs of dust that rose at the falling of each iron-shod hoof,
was recorded for all time by the eye of the camera.

The horses entered the home-stretch and in a terrific burst of speed
flashed by the throngs of yelling people and under the wire, a mere blur
of shining bodies, brilliant colours of the jockeys' blouses, and yellow
dust. The Suburban was over, and the great crowd that had come miles to
see a race that lasted but a little more than two minutes (a grand
struggle of giants, however), sank back into their seats or relaxed
their straining gaze in a way that said plainer than words could say it,
"It is over."

It was 4:45 in the afternoon. The photographer was all activity. The
minute the race was over the motor above the great camera was stopped
and the box was opened. From its dark interior another box about six
inches square and two inches deep was taken: this box contained t