Chapter IV: Part 4

Such a crowd as there was on the road all the way to the hill of Thonabuckey, where a good view could be had of the race! Cars, donkey-carts, wiry-looking horses with wiry and sporting squireens on them crowded the road--all on their way to see the thousand-guinea steeple-chase between the English soldier gentleman and the famous Captain O'Rooney.

Such excitement, such running and jostling of the dirty unwashed to get along! There was the old blind fiddler, Mat Doolan, in a donkey-cart, and perched on the top of a porter-barrel, scraping away, and occasionally giving a song.

"Sure it's himself that can bring the music out of the instrument. He is the best fiddler in the west," sang out one. Then a chorus of voices would break in asking for various tunes and songs. "Arrah, now, give us 'Croppies lie down.'" "'Wreath the bowl,'" cried another. "Hell to the bowl, let's 'ave 'Tater, Jack Walsh,' or 'Vinegar Hill,'" demanded a sturdy ruffian. "No, no; 'The breeze that blows the barley,' 'St Patrick's day in the morning,' or 'Garry-owen' for me." "Begorra, no; 'Larry before he was stretched,' is my favourite," said a ragged urchin.

"Hurrah! here comes the Captain," bawled another; and the dirty unwashed yelled as he passed in a tax-cart driven by a friend.

"Which is the Captain?" demanded a soldier.

"Death! don't you know him? Musha, why that one forenent ye in the white caubeen and frieze coat. Troth, he's a broth of a boy! devil a one in Ireland can bate him on Mad Moll across country. Sure he's an illigant rider."

"Hould yer noise, here comes Squire Gwynne and the ladies in the coach, and the English soldier gentleman wid 'em. Agra! but he's a mighty fine young man is that same. Bedad, it's Miss Alice that's looking swate on him entirely."

It was true: there was Charles Fortescue of the Stiffshire Regiment going to the scene of action in the Squire's waggonette, and sitting beside his affianced bride, the beautiful Alice Gwynne with eight thousand a year the instant she married.

"Hurroo!" shouted the people as the carriage dashed past. "Three cheers for the Master of Gwynne! And another for the lady!" They were in the humour to shout at everything and everybody.

The course is reached at last. It is a circular one, and everything has to be jumped twice; hardly anything is to be seen but dark frowning walls. Many cars and carriages have got down by the water-jump. There is no end of youth and beauty. All the county _élite_ are there as lookers-on. A place has been kept for Mr Gwynne, and also one for the large waggonette of the officers. Eager spectators are scattered all over the course, but the big wall and the two water-jumps are the centre of attraction. The wall is a fearful one, six feet high, built up of large loose stones. The water-jump is also a pretty good one. A little mountain stream has been dammed up. It is fifteen feet wide, four feet deep, and hurdled and staked on the taking off side.

"By Jingo, it is a twister!" said Mr Gwynne, a hunting man, as he looked at it. "I say, Ally," to his daughter, "you would not like to ride over that, would you?"

"No, indeed, papa," said the poor girl, with her beautiful eyes full of tears--she was terribly agitated. "I never shall be able to look at Charles as he jumps it: it's fearful to look at, and it has to be done twice too!"

"Never mind, Alice, dear," said Fortescue, "the old horse will carry me over like a bird. The only difficulty in the whole thing is the big wall; that is a rattler! but in your colours, of course, I shall get over all right. Let me do that wall and I am pretty safe, for I know Screwdriver has the foot of Mad Moll; and these colours, too, they must not play second fiddle. Cheer up!" and he whispered something that made the fair girl smile through her tears.

"Now, Fortescue," said George Bradon, taking his friend aside, "let me give you a little advice: this is your maiden effort: whatever you do be cool; don't flurry or worry yourself; you have a knowing fellow to ride against, who is well up to these things. Now the wall is the principal thing, and my opinion is, he will try and baulk your horse there; therefore, my boy, don't let him give you a lead over it, _but lead him_. That you have the speed of the mare there is not a doubt. Remember, too, you must not go at the wall too fast: keep him well together, with his hind legs well under him, and pop him over. Now, with regard to the brook, on no account give him a lead there; if necessary, walk your horse to it rather than go first. Keep your head, old fellow, and where you dare, make the pace a cracker, if you can do it without pumping your horse; the mare is overtrained, and will not last if she is bustled. I don't know that I can say any more: now, go and sit by your lady fair till it is time to weigh."

The officers had sent their two cricket tents down, the scoring one for the scales, and the other for luncheon. The latter one was filled with gentlemen discussing the merits of the different horses.

"Here comes your nag, Fortescue," said a young sub, running up to the carriage.

"Oh, what a beauty he is!" said Miss Gwynne. "Who is the little fat man leading him?"

"That," said Bradon, who had joined them, "is my old stud-groom, one of the best men in Europe; he says Screwdriver's trained to the hour. Here, Mason, turn the horse round and show him to the lady."

The old man touched his hat as he did so.

"He's a good 'un, miss," he said, "and nothing but a good 'un; and if Mr Fortescue rides him patiently, I think that no Mad Moll will have a chance with him." And touching his hat again he turned and walked the horse away.

The regimental champion was then immediately surrounded by the men of the Stiffshire Regiment.

The weighing is over, and Screwdriver mounted. Fortescue's colours are crimson, with gold braiding. Capt. O'Rooney's are all green. Both gentlemen look thorough jocks, and sit their horses easily and well; but there is a look of the older hand about the Captain.

"Who will lay me two to one against Screwdriver?" cried out a sly-looking little man in a large drab overcoat. "I'll do it to any amount up to a thousand."

"I'll take you even money for a hundred," said a flashily-dressed man on a bay horse.

"I want odds, sir," said the little man; "but as I see there is no betting to be done here, make it two hundred and I'll take you."

"Done," said the other. And the bets were booked.

All is now excitement, for the horses are walking away to the starting-post. The judge had locked himself up in the little box allotted to him, which has been lent by the race committee, but little did he think he would see such a close finish.

"They're off!" is the cry, as the two horses are seen cantering across a field.

"Fortescue's leading," said Lord Plunger, with his field-glasses to his eyes.

"Oh, papa, hold me up so that I may see," said the beautiful and anxious Miss Gwynne.

The eyes of scores were on her as she stood up, for all the gentry were well aware in what relation she stood to Fortescue.

"Well lepped!" roared the multitude, as the horses topped a wall.

"Capital jumpers both," said the sly-looking little man; "the horse for my money. Will nobody bet?" he roared out. But all were too eager to attend to him.

Fortescue is in front, and going at a good rate across some grass. The first brook is now approached, and the Captain in his turn, leads at a strong pace. All are anxiously looking to see how Mad Moll will like it, for she is twisting her head from side to side. Fortescue has taken a pull at Screwdriver, who is some six lengths behind.

"Hang me if she means jumping!" said Bradon, as he saw the mare's spiral movements.

But he was wrong: a resolute man and a good one was on her back. She jumped the brook, but in bad style, her hind legs dropped in, and as she just righted herself, Fortescue's crimson jacket flashed in the air and cleared it splendidly, amidst the shouts of hundreds.

"Splendidly jumped!" said Lord Plunger. "Fortescue is a fine horseman, Bradon, and is riding the horse patiently and well."

"He is," was the quiet reply.

All eyes are now directed to the wall, which the horses are rapidly approaching. Fortescue is seen to lead at it, and the old horse clears it at a bound, as did the mare.

"It's all up," said Bradon, as he closes his glasses; "Fortescue will win in a canter."

"The Captain's down!" screamed a host of voices, as he and the mare came to grief at the second water-jump.

"May he stick there for the next ten minutes!" muttered the sly little man, a wish in which not a few joined--a certain fair lady especially.

But he is up and at work again, none the worse. The horses were going at a great pace, and the jumps were taken with beautiful precision by both. Bradon began to look anxious, the sly little man fidgety, and Lord Plunger wore a thoughtful look.

The anxious girl's face was flushed to scarlet with excitement and emotion, and she trembled fearfully.

"It will be a close thing," said the sly-looking little man; "the mare is better than I thought."

There were only a few things to be jumped now of any consequence--the two brooks and the big wall. The horses there turned, ran through an opening made in the wall, and finished on the flat in front of the carriages. The brook is now approached for the second time: the mare comes at it first, jumps it, and topples down on her nose on the opposite side; the Captain is pitched forward on her ears, but recovers himself like lightning, and is away again, leading Fortescue at a terrific pace.

But what is the little sly man doing? As the mare recovers herself he is seen to dart across the course and pick up something flat, and put it into his pocket. "By G--d! turn out as it will we are saved," he muttered. "I'll lay any money against the mare," he screamed out. But no one took him.

The wall is now approached again; the Captain leads; but as the mare is about to rise he turns her sharply round and gallops in a different direction. Screwdriver refuses it too.

"Damnation! I thought it," said Bradon; "there's a blackguard's trick!"

"Oh! poor Charles," ejaculated the beautiful Alice; "my poor colours!"

"The Captain's cleared it!" shouted out the multitude, as the mare was seen to take the wall splendidly.

"Where's your soldier now?" shouted out a chorus of voices.

"Shure it's myself," said the captain, "could never be licked."

"Most unfortunate!" said the old Colonel, "a dirty trick; and after my kindness to him, too!"

"The soldier is going at it again!" cried the people; and the horse is seen to rise gallantly at it, but both horse and rider came down on the other side.

"Och, wirra wirra, vo vo! Mother of Moses, he's kilt entirely!" bawled out a countryman; "poor young fellow!"

"Miss Gwynne's fainted," said a young sub, running into the tent for water.

"By G--d! he's up and at it again," screamed out the sly little man: "the mare's baked too; look at her tail."

All faces were flushed and eager. The horse was coming along at a tremendous pace. The captain was at work: his legs could be seen sending the spurs deeply into her; and he took an anxious look over his shoulder every now and then.

"The mare's beaten!" resounded on all sides, as she was seen to swerve in her stride.

"Oh that the finish were only a hundred yards farther!" said Lord Plunger.

The winning-post is approached. The old horse has not been touched by Fortescue, whose face is seen, even at that distance, to be deluged with blood. He holds Screwdriver well in hand; he sees the mare is flagging.

"Green wins!" "Red wins!" shouts the crowd.

It is an anxious moment. Both horses are seen locked closely together. But the strain on Screwdriver's jaw is relaxed, and Fortescue is seen to shake him up; the whip hand is at work, and they pass the post abreast. The Colonel dashes off, as does the sly little man, and a host of others.

"What is it?" said the Colonel, as he galloped up.

"A DEAD HEAT," replied the judge.

The sly little man smiles grimly as he hears these words.

"Is Charles hurt, papa?" said the beautiful occupant of the Master of Gwynne's carriage, opening her eyes languidly, as she rose from her faint.

"No, dearest; cut a little, I believe. It is a dead heat."

Both horses were now returning to scale.

"Dead heat?" said the Captain. "Well, we must run it off in an hour. I won't give in."

"Hurt, sir?" inquired old Mason, as he took hold of the old horse's bridle and led him back.

"A bit of a cut on the forehead," returned Fortescue, "that is all. Captain O'Rooney pulled his mare round at the wall--little cad!"

"A scoundrel's trick," said the Colonel.

Fortescue goes to weigh in first.

"All right, sir," said the man in charge of the scales.

The Captain now approaches, saddle and saddle-cloths in hand, and seats himself.

"Eleven stone eleven," said he of the scales, looking at them intently. "Three pounds short, Captain."

"What?" yelled out O'Rooney. "Look again, man, look again!"

"Eleven stone eleven," replied the clerk.

"Give me my bridle!" roared the Captain. "What the h--ll is the matter?"

"Ay, give him his bridle!" said the sly-looking little man; "he can claim a pound for it; but that won't make him right. Look at your saddle-cloth, sir. You will see it has burst and a three-pounds lead gone. You did it at the big water-jump the second time, and I picked it up. Here it is."

Cheer after cheer rent the air as the fact was announced. The soldiers, of course, went almost frantic.

"Here, come away," said Lord Plunger and Bradon, seizing Charley's arm, "Get away as quickly as you can. There will be a row. Your horse has already gone, with seventy or eighty of our men with him. You rode the race splendidly, old fellow!"

"That he did," said the sly-looking little man.

The Captain had lost the race. He was short by two pounds, allowing him one for his bridle. The scene of confusion that followed was indescribable.

Fortescue was taken to the carriage and quickly driven away.

"Ah, Alice!" said he, "I told you I should carry your colours to the fore."

"Thank God you did so! This is your first and last race, promise me."

The Captain went back to Clough-bally-More Castle; but in a day or two he was _non est_, and his creditors were done.

The regiment had a jovial night of it. Fortescue's health was drunk in bumper after bumper; but he was not there to acknowledge the compliment; some one else had him in charge.

A short time after the Stiffshire were quartered in Manchester, and the Colonel one day encountered no less a person than Captain O'Rooney.

"See now, Colonel," said the latter, "you must bear me no ill-will. I did a shabby trick, I'll allow, at the wall, but I was a ruined man. I'm all right now. I've married a rich cotton-spinner's widow with some three thousand a year; but it's all settled on her."

Fortescue and Miss Gwynne are long ago married; and at the different race meetings that they attended they often saw the celebrated Captain O'Rooney performing; but in all the numerous races he was engaged in, he never rode--at any rate in a steeple-chase--another DEAD HEAT.

ONLY THE MARE

When one opens a suspicious-looking envelope and finds something about "Mr Shopley's respectful compliments" on the inside of the flap, the chances are that Mr Shopley is hungering for what we have Ovid's authority for terming _irritamenta malorum_. Not wishing to have my appetite for breakfast spoiled, I did not pursue my researches into a communication of this sort which was amongst my letters on a certain morning in November; but turned over the pile until the familiar caligraphy of Bertie Peyton caught my eye: for Bertie was Nellie's brother, and Nellie Peyton, it had been decided, would shortly cease to be Nellie Peyton; a transformation for which I was the person chiefly responsible. Bertie's communication was therefore seized with avidity. It ran as follows:--

"The Lodge, Holmesdale.

"MY DEAR CHARLIE,

"I sincerely hope that you have no important engagements just at
present, as I want you down here most particularly.

"You know that there was a small race-meeting at Bibury the other
day. I rode over on Little Lady, and found a lot of the 14th
Dragoons there; that conceited young person Blankney amongst the
number. Now, although Blankley has a very considerable personal
knowledge of the habits and manners of the ass, he doesn't know
much about the horse; and for that reason he saw fit to read us a
lecture on breeding and training, pointing his moral and adorning
his tale with a reference to my mare--whose pedigree, you know, is
above suspicion. After, however, he had kindly informed us what a
thoroughbred horse ought to be, he looked at Little Lady and said,
'Now I shouldn't think that thing was thoroughbred!' It ended by my
matching her against that great raw-boned chestnut of his: three
and a half miles over the steeplechase course, to be run at the
Holmesdale Meeting, on the 5th December.

"As you may guess, I didn't want to win or lose a lot of money, and
when he asked what the match should be for, I suggested '£20
a-side.' 'Hardly worth while making a fuss for £20!' he said,
rather sneeringly. '£120, if you like!' I answered, rather angrily,
hardly meaning what I said; but he pounced on the offer. Of course
I couldn't retract, and so very stupidly, I plunged deeper into the
mire, and made several bets with the fellows who were round us.
They laid me 3 to 1 against the mare, but I stand to lose nearly
£500.

"You see now what I want. I ride quite 12 stone, as you know; the
mare is to carry 11 stone, and you can just manage that nicely. I
know you'll come if you can, and if you telegraph I'll meet you.

"Your's ever,

BERTIE PEYTON.

"P.S.--Nellie sends love, and hopes to see you soon. No one is
here, but the aunt is coming shortly."

I was naturally anxious to oblige him, and luckily had nothing to keep me in town; so that afternoon saw me rapidly speeding southwards, and the evening, comfortably domiciled at The Lodge.

Bertie, who resided there with his sister, was not a rich man. £500 was a good deal more than he could afford to lose, and poor little Nellie was in a great flutter of anxiety and excitement in consequence of her brother's rashness. As for the mare, she could gallop and jump; and though we had no means of ascertaining the abilities of Blankney's chestnut, we had sufficient faith in our Little Lady to enable us to "come up to the scratch smiling;" and great hopes that we should be enabled to laugh at the result in strict accordance with the permission given in the old adage, "Let those laugh who win."

It was not very pleasant to rise at an abnormal hour every morning, and arrayed in great-coats and comforters sufficient for six people, to rush rapidly about the country; but it was necessary. I was a little too heavy, and we could not afford to throw away any weight, nor did I wish to have my saddle reduced to the size of a cheese-plate, as would have been my fate had I been unable to reduce myself. Breakfast, presided over by Nellie, compensated for all matutinal discomforts; and then she came round to the stables to give the mare an encouraging pat and a few words of advice and endearment which I verily believe the gallant little mare understood, for it rubbed its nose against her shoulder as though it would say, "Just you leave it in my hands--or, rather, to my feet--and I'll make it all right!" Then we started for our gallop, Bertie riding a steady old iron-grey hunter.

The fourth of December arrived, and the mare's condition was splendid. "As fit as a fiddle," was the verdict of Smithers, a veterinary surgeon who had done a good deal of training in his time, and who superintended our champion's preparation; and though we were ignorant of the precise degree of fitness to which fiddles usually attain, he seemed pleased, and so, consequently, were we. Unfortunately on this morning Bertie's old hunter proved to be very lame, so I was forced to take my last gallop by myself; and with visions of success on the morrow, I passed rapidly through the keen air over the now familiar way; for the course was within a couple of miles of the house, and so we had the great advantage of being able to accustom the mare to the very journey she would have to take.

Bertie was in a field at the back of the stables when I neared home again. "Come on!" he shouted, pointing to a nasty hog-backed stile, which separated us. I gave Little Lady her head, and she cantered up to it, lighting on the other side like a very bird! Bertie didn't speak as I trotted up to him, but he looked up into my face with a triumphant smile more eloquent than words.

"You've given her enough, haven't you?" he remarked, patting her neck, as I dismounted in the yard.

"You've given her enough," usually signifies "you've given her too much." But I opined not, and we walked round to the house tolerably well convinced that the approaching banking transactions would be on the right side of the book.

Despite a walk with Nellie, and the arrival of a pile of music from town, the afternoon passed rather slowly; perhaps we were too anxious to be cheerful. To make matters worse, dinner was to be postponed till past eight, for the aunt was coming, and Nellie was afraid the visitor would be offended if they did not wait for her.

"You look very bored and tired, sir!" said Nellie pouting prettily; "I believe you'd yawn if it wasn't rude!"

I assured her that I could not, under any circumstances, be guilty of such an enormity.

"It's just a quarter past seven. We'll go and meet the carriage, and then perhaps you'll be able to keep awake until dinner-time!" and so with a look of dignity which would have been very effective if the merry smile in her eyes had been less apparent, the little lady swept out of the room; to return shortly arrayed in furs, and a most coquettish-looking hat, and the smallest and neatest possible pair of boots, which in their efforts to appear strong and sturdy only made their extreme delicacy more decided.

"Come, sleepy boy!" said she, holding out a grey-gloved hand. I rose submissively, and followed her out of the snug drawing-room to the open air.

Bertie was outside, smoking.

"We are going to meet the aunt, dear," explained Nellie. "I'm afraid she'll be cross, because it's so cold."

"She's not quite so inconsequent as that, I should fancy; but it is cold, and isn't the ground hard!" I said.

"It is hard!" cried Bertie, stamping vigorously. "By Jove! I hope it's not going to freeze!" and afflicted by the notion--for a hard frost would have rendered it necessary to postpone the races--he hurried off to the stables, to consult one of the men who was weather-wise.

Some stone steps led from the terrace in front of the house to the lawn; at either end of the top-step was a large globe of stone, and on to one of these thoughtless little Nellie climbed. I stretched out my hand, fearing that the weather had made it slippery, but before I could reach her she slipped and fell.

"You rash little person!" I said, expecting that she would spring up lightly.

"Oh! my foot!" she moaned; and gave a little shriek of pain as she put it to the ground.

I took her in my arms, and summoning her maid, carried her to the drawing-room.

"Take off her boot," I said to the girl, but Nellie could not bear to have her foot touched, and feebly moaned that her arm hurt her.

"Oh! pray send for a doctor, sir!" implored the maid, while Nellie only breathed heavily, with half-closed eyes; and horribly frightened, I rushed off, hardly waiting to say a word to the poor little sufferer.

"Whatever is the matter?" Bertie cried, as I burst into the harness-room.

"Where's the doctor?" I replied, hastily. "Nellie's hurt herself--sprained her ankle, and hurt her arm--broken it, perhaps!"

"How? When?" he asked.

"There's no time to explain. She slipped down. Where's the doctor?"

"Our doctor is ill, and has no substitute. There's no one nearer than Lawson, at Oakley, and that's twelve miles, very nearly."

"Then I must ride at once," I reply.

"Saddle my horse as quickly as possible," said Bertie to the groom.

"He's lame, sir, can't move!" the man replied, and I remembered that it was so.

"Put a saddle on one of the carriage horses--anything so long as there's no delay."

"They're out, sir! Gone to the station. There's nothing in the stable--only the mare; and to gallop her to Oakley over the ground as it is to-night, will pretty well do for her chance to-morrow--to say nothing of the twelve miles back again. The carriage will be home in less than an hour, sir," the man remonstrated.

"It may be, you don't know, the trains are so horridly unpunctual. Saddle the mare, Jarvis, as quickly as you can--every minute may be of the utmost value!" As Bertie spoke the _faintest_ look of regret showed itself on his face for a second; for of course he knew that such a journey would very materially affect, if it did not entirely destroy, the mare's chance.

Jarvis, who I think had been speculating, very reluctantly took down the saddle and bridle from their pegs, but I snatched them from his arms, and assisted by Bertie, was leading her out of the stable in a very few seconds.

"Hurry on! Never mind the mare--good thing she's in condition," said Bertie, who only thought now of his sister. "I'll go and see the girl."

"I can cut across the fields, can't I, by the cross roads?" I asked, settling in the saddle.

"No! no! Keep to the highway; it's safer at night. Go on!" I heard him call as I went at a gallop down the cruelly hard road.

The ground rang under the mare's feet, and in spite of all my anxiety for Nellie I could not help feeling one pang of regret for Little Lady, whose free, bounding action, augured well for what her chances would have been on the morrow--chances which I felt were rapidly dying out; for if this journey didn't lame her nothing would. Stones had just been put down as a matter of course; but there was no time for picking the way, and taking tight hold of her head we sped on.

About a mile from the Lodge I came to the crossroads. Before me was a long vista of stone--regular rocks, so imperfectly were they broken: to the right was the smoother and softer pathway over the fields--perfect going in comparison to the road. Just over this fence, a hedge, and with hardly another jump I should come again into the highway, saving quite two miles by the cut. Bertie had said "Don't," but probably he had spoken thoughtlessly, and it was evidently the best thing to do, for the time I saved might be of the greatest value to poor little suffering Nellie! I pulled up, and drew the mare back to the opposite hedge. She knew her work thoroughly. Three bounds took her across the road: she rose--the next moment I was on my back, shot some distance into the field, and she was struggling up from the ground. There had been a post and rail whose existence I had not suspected, placed some six feet from the hedge on the landing side. She sprang up, no legs were broken; and I, a good deal shaken and confused, rose to my feet, wondering what to do next. I had not had time to collect my thoughts when I heard the rattle of a trap on the road; it speedily approached, and the moonlight revealed the jolly features of old Tom Heathfield, a friendly farmer.

"Accident, sir?" he asked, pulling up. "What! Mr Vaughan!" as he caught sight of my face. "What's the---- why! that ain't the mare, sure-_lie_?"

All the neighbourhood was in a ferment of excitement about the races, and the sight of Little Lady in such a place at such a time struck horror to the honest old farmer.

"Yes, it is--I'm sorry to say. Miss Peyton has met with an accident. I was going for the doctor, and unfortunately there was nothing else in the stable."

"You was going to Oakley, I s'pose, sir? It'll be ruination to the mare. Miss Peyton hurt herself! I'll bowl over, sir; it won't take long; this little horse o' mine can trot a good 'un; and I can bring the doctor with me. The fences, there, is mended with wire. You'd cut the mare to pieces."

"I can't say how obliged to you I am----"

"Glad of the opportunity of obliging Miss Peyton, sir; she's a real lady!" He was just starting when he checked himself. "There's a little public house about a hundred yards further on; if you don't mind waiting there I'll send Smithers to look at the mare. I pass his house. All right, sir."

His rough little cob started off at a pace for which I had not given it credit; and I slowly followed, leading the mare towards the glimmering light which Heathfield had pointed out. My charge stepped out well, and I didn't think that there was anything wrong, though glad, of course, to have a professional opinion.

A man was hanging about the entrance to the public-house, and with his assistance the mare was bestowed in a kind of shed, half cow-house, half stable; and as the inside of the establishment did not look by any means inviting, I lit a cigar and lounged about outside, awaiting the advent of Smithers.

He didn't arrive; and in the course of wandering to and fro I found myself against a window. Restlessly I was just moving away when a voice inside the room repeated the name of _Blankney_. I started, and turning round, looked in.

It was a small apartment, with a sanded floor, and two persons were seated on chairs before the fire conversing earnestly. One of them was a middle-aged man, clad in a brown great-coat with a profusion of fur-collar and cuffs which it would scarcely be libel to term "mangy." He was the owner of an unwholesome-looking face, decorated as to the chin with a straggling crop of bristles which he would have probably termed an imperial.

"Wust year I ever 'ad!" he exclaimed (and a broken pane in the window enabled me to hear distinctly). "The Two Thousand 'orse didn't run; got in deep over the Derby; Hascot was hawful; and though I had a moral for the Leger, it went down."

His own morals, judging from his appearance and conversation, appeared to have followed the example of that for the Leger.

"I can't follow your plans about this race down here, though," said his companion, a younger man, who seemed to hold the first speaker in great awe despite his confessions of failure. "Don't you say that this young Blankney's horse can't get the distance?"

"I do. He never was much good, I 'ear; never won nothing, though he's run in two or three hurdle-races; and since Phil Kelly's been preparing of 'im for this race he's near about broke down. His legs swell up like bolsters after his gallops; and he can't get three miles at all, I don't believe, without he's pulled up and let lean agin something on the journey to rest hisself."

"And yet you're backing him?"

"And yet I'm backing of him."

"This young Peyton's mare can't be worse?" said the younger man, interrogatively.

"That mare, it's my belief, would be fancied for the Grand National if she was entered, and some of the swells saw 'er. She's a real good 'un!" replied the man with the collar.

"I see. You've got at her jockey. You're an artful one, you are."

As the jockey to whom they alluded, I was naturally much interested.

"No, I ain't done that, neither. He's a gentleman, and it's no use talkin' to such as 'im. They ain't got the sense to take up a good thing when they see it--though, for the matter o' that, most of the perfessionals is as bad as the gentlemen. All's fair in love and war," says I; "and this 'ere's war."

"Does Blankney know how bad his horse is?"

"No, bless yer! That ain't Phil Kelly's game." (Kelly was, I knew, the man who had charge of my opponent's horse.)

"Well, then, just explain, will you; for _I_ can't see."

From the recesses of his garment the elder man pulled out a short stick about fifteen inches in length, at the end of which was a loop of string; and from another pocket he produced a small paper parcel.

"D'yer know what that is? That's a 'twitch.' D'yer know what that is? That's medicine. I love this 'ere young feller's mare so much I'm a-goin' to give it some nicey med'cine myself; and this is the right stuff. I've been up to the 'ouse to-day, and can find my way into the stable to-night when it's all quiet. Just slip this loop over 'er lip, and she'll open 'er mouth. Down goes the pill, and as it goes down the money goes into my pocket. Them officer fellers and their friends have been backing Blankney's 'orse; but Phil Kelly will take care that they hear at the last moment that he's no good. Then they'll rush to lay odds on the mare--and the mare won't win."

They laughed, and nudged each other in the side, and I felt a mighty temptation to rush into the room and nudge their heads with my fist. Little Lady's delicate lips, which Nelly had so often petted, to be desecrated by the touch of such villains as these!

While struggling to restrain myself a hand was laid on my shoulders, and, turning round, I saw Smithers. We proceeded to the stable; and I hastily recounted to him what had happened, and what I had heard, as he examined the mare by the aid of a bull's-eye lantern. He passed his hand very carefully over her, whilst I looked on with anxious eyes.

"She's knocked a bit of skin off here, you see." He pointed to a place a little below her knee, and drawing a small box from his pocket, anointed the leg. "But she's all right. All right, ain't you, old lady?" he said, patting her; and his cheerful tone convinced me that he was satisfied. "We'll lead her home. I'll go with you, sir; and it's easy to take means to prevent any games to-night."

When we reached home the doctor was there, and pronounced that, with the exception of a sprained ankle, Nelly had sustained no injury.

Rejoicing exceedingly, we proceeded to the stable; Heathfield, who heard my story, and who was delighted at the prospect of some fun, asking permission to accompany us.

"Collars" had doubtless surveyed the premises carefully, for he arrived about eleven o'clock, and clambered quietly and skilfully into the hayloft above the stable, after convincing himself that all was quiet inside. He opened the trap-door, and down came a foot and leg, feeling about to find a resting-place on the partition which divided Little Lady's loose box from the other stalls. Bertie and I took hold of the leg, and assisted him down, to his intense astonishment; while Heathfield and a groom gave chase to, and ultimately captured his friend, the watcher on the threshold.

* * * * *

"If I'm well enough to do _anything_ I'm well enough to lie on the sofa; and there's really _no_ difference between a sofa and an easy-chair--if my foot is resting--and I'm sure the carriage is _easier_ than any chair; and it can't matter about my foot being an inch or two higher or lower--and as for shaking, that's all nonsense. It's very unkind _indeed_ of you not to want to take me; and if you won't, directly you've gone I'll get up, and walk about, _and stamp_!"

Thus Nelly, in answer to advice that she should remain at home. How it ended may easily be guessed; and though we tried to be dignified, as we drove along, to punish her for her wilfulness, her pathetic little expressions of sorrow that she should "fall down, and hurt herself, and be such a trouble to everybody," and child-like assurances that she would "not do it again," soon made us smile, and forget our half-pretended displeasure. So with the aunt to take care of her, in case Bertie and I were insufficient, we reached the course.

The first three races were run and then the card said:--

3·15 Match, £120 a side, over the Steeple-chase Course, about three
miles and a half.

1. Mr Blankney, 14th Dragoons, ch. h. Jibboom, 5 years, 11 st.
7 lb., rose, black and gold cap.

2. Mr Peyton, b. m. Little Lady, 6 years, 11 st., sky-blue,
white cap.

Blankney was sitting on the regimental drag, arrayed in immaculate boots and breeches, and, after the necessary weighing ceremony had been gone through he mounted the great Jibboom, which Phil Kelly had been leading about: the latter gentleman had a rather anxious look on his face; but Blankney evidently thought he was on a good one, and nodded confidently to his friends on the drag as he lurched down the course.

Little Lady was brought up to me, Smithers being in close attendance.

"I _shall_ be so glad, if you win," Nellie found opportunity to whisper.

"What will you give me?" I greedily inquire.

"_Anything_ you ask me," is the reply; and my heart beats high as, having thrown off my light wrapper and mounted, Little Lady bounds down the course, and glides easily over the hurdle in front of the stand.

Bertie and Smithers were waiting at the starting-post; and, having shaken hands with Blankney, to whom Bertie introduced me, I went apart to exchange the last few sentences with my friends.

Bertie is a trifle pale, but confident; and Smithers seems to have a large supply of the latter quality. In however high esteem we hold our own opinions, we are glad of professional advice when it comes to the push; and I seek instructions.

"No, sir, don't you wait on him. Go away as hard as you can directly the flag drops. I don't like the look of that chestnut's legs--or, rather, I do like the look of them for our sakes. Go away as hard as ever you can; but take it easy at the fences; and, excuse me, sir, but just let the mare have her head when she jumps, and she'll be all right. People talk about 'lifting horses at their fences:' I only knew one man who could do it, and he made mistakes."

I nod; smiling as cheerfully as anxiety will permit me. The flag falls, and Little Lady skims over the ground, the heavy chestnut thundering away behind.

Over the first fence--a hedge--and then across a ploughed field; rather hard going, but not nearly so bad as I expected it would have been: the mare moving beautifully. Just as I reach the second fence a boy rushes across the course, baulking us; and before I can set her going again Jibboom has come up level, and is over into the grass beyond a second before us; but I shoot past and again take up the running. Before us are some posts and rails--rather nasty ones; the mare tops them, and the chestnut hits them hard with all four legs. Over more grass; and in front, flanked on either side by a crowd of white faces, is the water-jump. I catch hold of her head and steady her; and then, she rises, flies through the air, and lands lightly on the other side. A few seconds after I hear a heavy splash; but when, after jumping the hurdle into the course, I glance over my shoulder, the chestnut is still pounding away behind. As I skim along past the stand the first time round and the line of carriages opposite, I catch sight of a waving white handkerchief: it is Nellie; and my confused glimpse imperfectly reveals Bertie and Smithers standing on the box of the carriage.

I had seen visions of a finish, in which a certain person clad in a light-blue jacket had shot ahead just in the nick of time, and landed the race by consummate jockeyship after a neck-and-neck struggle for the last quarter of a mile. This did not happen, however, for, as I afterwards learned, the chestnut refused a fence before he had gone very far, and, having at last been got over, came to grief at the posts and rails the second time round. Little Lady cantered in alone; Blankney strolling up some time afterwards.

There is no need to make record of Bertie's delight at the success. We dined next day at the mess of the 14th, Blankney and his brethren were excessively friendly, and seemed pleased and satisfied; as most assuredly were we. Blankney opines that he went rather too fast at the timber; but a conviction seemed to be gaining ground towards the close of the evening that he had not gone fast enough at any period of the race.

And for Nellie? She kept her promise, and granted my request; and very soon after the ankle was well we required the services of other horses--grey ones!

HUNTING IN THE MIDLANDS

"Jem Pike has just come round, gentlemen, to say that they will be able to hunt to-day, after all: and as it's about starting time, and you've some distance to go, I will, if you wish, gentlemen, order your horses round."

The announcement, as it came to us over our breakfast at a hostelry which I will call the Lion, in a market town which I will call Chippington--a highly convenient hunting rendezvous in the Midlands--was not a little welcome. Jem Pike was the huntsman of the pack, and Jem Pike's message was an intimation that the frost of last night had not destroyed our sport for the day. The morning broke in what Jem would call a "plaguey ugly fashion:" from an artistic point of view it had been divine: for hunting purposes it had been execrable. A thin coating of ice on one's bath indoors, a good stiff hoar frost out, crystallized trees, and resonant roads--all this was seasonable, very, and "pretty to look at, too." But it was "bad for riding:" and we had not come to the Lion at Chippington in order to contemplate the beauties of nature, but to brace our nerves with the healthy excitement of the chase. Full of misgivings we descended to breakfast, in hunting toggery notwithstanding. As the sun shone out with increased brilliance we began to grow more cheerful. The frost, we said, was nothing, and all trace of it would be gone before noon. The waiter shook his head dubiously, suggested that there was a good billiard-table, and enquired as to the hour at which we would like to dine. But the waiter, as the event proved, was wrong, and we were still in the middle of breakfast when the message of the huntsman of the Chippington pack arrived--exactly what we had each of us said. Of course the frost was nothing: we had known as much; and now the great thing was to get breakfast over, and "then to horse away."

After all there is nothing for comfort like the old-fashioned hunting hotels, and unfortunately they are decreasing in number every year. Still the Lion at Chippington remains; and I am happy to say that I know of a few more like the Lion. They are recognisable at a glance. You may tell them by the lack of nineteenth century filagree decoration which characterises their exterior, by the cut of the waiters, by the knowing look of the boots. Snug are their coffee-rooms, luxurious their beds, genial their whole atmosphere. It is just possible that if you were to take your wife to such an establishment as the Lion, she would complain that an aroma of tobacco smoke pervaded the atmosphere. But the hunting hotel is conspicuously a bachelor's house. Its proprietor, or proprietress, does not lay himself or herself out for ladies and ladies' maids. It is their object to make single gentlemen, and gentlemen who enjoy the temporary felicity of singleness, at home. If it is your first visit, you are met in a manner which clearly intimates that you were expected. If you are an old _habitué_ you find that all your wants are anticipated, and all your peculiar fancies known. The waiter understands exactly--marvellous is the memory of this race of men--what you like for breakfast: whether you prefer a "wet fish" or a "dry:" and recollects to a nicety your particular idea of a dinner. Under any circumstances a week's hunting is a good and healthy recreation: but it is difficult to enjoy a week's hunting more perfectly than in one of these hostelries, which have not, I rejoice to say, yet been swept away by the advancing tide of modern improvement.

Of whom did our company consist? We were not a party of Meltonian squires, such as it would have delighted the famous Nimrod to describe. We were neither Osbaldestones nor Sir Harry Goodrickes: neither Myddelton Biddulphs nor Holyoakes. A Warwickshire or an Oxfordshire hunting field differs very materially, so far as regards its _personnel_, from a Leicester or a Northamptonshire gathering. The latter still preserves the memories and the traditions of a past _régime_, when hunting was confined to country gentlemen, farmers, and a few rich strangers: the former is typical of the new order of things under which hunting has ceased to be a class amusement, and has become a generally popular sport. Now it is not too much to claim for hunting at the present day this character. The composition of the little band which on the morning now in question left the Lion Hotel at Chippington, bound for covert, was no unimportant testimony to this fact. We were half a dozen in number, and comprised among ourselves a barrister, a journalist, a doctor, and a couple of Civil servants, who had allowed themselves a week's holiday, and who, being fond of riding, had determined to take it in this way. In an average hunting field of the present day you will discover men of all kinds of professions and occupations--attorneys, auctioneers, butchers, bakers, innkeepers, artists, sailors, authors. There is no town in England which has not more than one pack of hounds in its immediate vicinity; and you will find that the riders who make up the regular field are inhabitants of the town--men who are at work four or five days in the week at their desk or counter, and who hunt the remaining one or two. There is no greater instrument of social harmony than that of the modern hunting field: and, it may be added, there is no institution which affords a healthier opportunity for the ebullition of what may be called the democratic instincts of human nature. The hunting field is the paradise of equality: and the only title to recognition is achievement. "Rank," says a modern authority on the sport, "has no privilege; and wealth can afford no protection." Out of the hunting field there may be a wide gulf which separates peasant from peer, tenant from landlord. But there is no earthly power which can compel the tenant to give way to the landlord, or the peasant to the peer, when the scent is good and hounds are in full cry.

As we get to the bottom of the long and irregularly-paved street which constitutes the main thoroughfare--indeed, I might add, the entire town of Chippington--we fall in with other equestrians bound for Branksome Bushes--the meet fixed for that day--distant not more than two miles from Chippington itself. There was the chief medical man of the place, mounted on a very clever horse, the head of the Chippington bank, and some half-dozen strangers. As we drew near to "the Bushes" we saw that there had already congregated a very considerable crowd. There were young ladies, some who had come just to see them throw off, and others with an expression in their faces, and a cut about their habits, which looked like business, and which plainly indicated that they intended, if possible, to be in at the death. There were two or three clergymen who had come from adjoining parishes, and one or two country squires. There were some three or four Oxford undergraduates--Chippington is within a very convenient distance of the city of academic towers--who were "staying up" at their respective colleges for the purpose of reading during a portion of the vacation, and who found it necessary to vary the monotony of intense intellectual application by an occasional gallop with the Chippington or Bicester pack. Then, of course, there was the usual contingent of country doctors: usual, I say, for the medical profession gravitates naturally towards equestrianism. If a country doctor rides at all, you may be sure he rides well, and is well mounted, moreover. There was also a very boisterous and hard-riding maltster, who had acquired a considerable reputation in the district: a fair sprinkling of snobs; one or two grooms and stable cads. There was also an illustrious novelist of the day, the guest of Sir Cloudesley Spanker, Bart., and Sir Cloudesley Spanker, Bart., himself.

We had drawn Branksome Bushes and the result was a blank. Local sportsmen commence to be prolific of suggestions. There was Henham Gorse, for instance, and two gentlemen asseverated most positively, upon intelligence which was indisputably true, that there was a fox in that quarter. Another noble sportsman, who prided himself especially on his local knowledge, pressed upon Jem Pike the necessity of turning his attention next to the Enderby Woods, to all of which admonitions, however, Mr Pike resolutely turned a deaf ear. These are among the difficulties which the huntsman of a subscription pack has to encounter or withstand. Every Nimrod who pays his sovereign or so a year to the support of the hounds considers he has a right to a voice in their management. Marvellous is the sensitiveness of the amateur sportsman. It is a well-established fact, that you cannot more grievously wound or insult the feelings of the gentleman who prides himself upon his acquaintance with horses than by impugning the accuracy of his judgment in any point of equine detail. Hint to your friend, who is possessed with the idea that he is an authority upon the manners and customs of foxes in general, and upon those of any one neighbourhood in particular, that there exists a chance of his fallibility, and he will resent the insinuation as a mortal slight. Jem Pike had his duty to do to the pack and to his employers, and he steadfastly refused to be guided or misguided by amateur advice. So, at Jem's sweet will, we jogged on from Branksome Bushes to Jarvis Spinney, and at Jarvis Spinney the object of our quest was obtained.