Last week our Point to Point steeplechase came off. So did several of
the riders: this merely _par parenthese_. I offered to mark out the
course, and, as I intended to escape the dread ordeal of riding by
scratching my horse at the last moment, I thought it would be great fun
to choose a very stiff, not to say bloodthirsty, line. Awful grumbling
on the part of those unhappy ones who were to ride. Just as the bell
rang for saddling, Captain Sproozer, ready dressed for the fray, came up
to me with very long face, and said, "Beastly line this, you know,
Phunker. I call it much too stiff."
I smiled in pitying and superior manner. "Think so, my dear Sproozer? My
horse can't run, worse luck, but I only wish _I_ were going to have the
gallop over it."
"So you shall, then!" cried a rasping voice, suddenly, from behind me.
Sir Hercules Blizzard was the speaker, an awful man with an awful
temper. "So you shall. My idiot of a jockey broke his collar-bone trying
to jump one of the fences on this confounded course of yours to-day, so,
as I am without a rider, you shall ride my mare Dinah."
Swallowed lump in my throat as I thanked him for his offer, but thought
I had better decline, as I didn't know the mare, and besides that, I----
"Oh! all right, I know what you are going to say: that you're not much
good on a horse"--(nothing of the sort! I was not going to say any such
thing, confound the man!) "Of course, I know all that, and that you're
not much of a rider; but I can't help myself now. It's too late to get a
decent horseman, so I shall have to make shift with you."
Deuced condescending of him. I made a feeble effort to escape, and would
cheerfully have paid a hundred pounds for the chance of doing so. Phil
Poundaway, great friend of mine, came up and said (sympathetically, as I
thought at first), "I should think you'd prefer to get off it, wouldn't
you, Phunker?"
Thought he would volunteer in my place, so was perfectly frank with him.
"My dear Phil, I'd give a hundred to get off----"
"Ah! you will, I expect, at the first fence, without paying the money!"
he grinned, as he turned away.
Murder was in my heart at that moment. I got on Dinah, and, feeling like
death, rode down to the starting-post. Thoughts of a misspent youth, of
home and friends and things, came o'er me. I seemed once more to see the
little rose-covered porch, the----
"What on earth are you mooning about?" thundered the Blizzardian voice
in my ear. "Take hold of her head tighter than that, or you'll be off!"
The next moment the starter yelled "Go!" and away, like a whirlwind, we
sped across the first field, towards a huge, thick blackthorn fence, the
one I had thought to see such fun with. Fun! I never felt less funny in
my life, as we approached it at the rate of two thousand miles an hour!
The mare jumped high, but I jumped much higher, and seemed for a brief
moment to be soaring through the blue empyrean. Somehow, the mare
managed to evade me on the return journey earthwards, and, instead of
alighting on the saddle, I found myself "sitting on the floor." A
howl--it might have been of sympathy, but it didn't sound quite like
that--arose from the crowd, and then I thought that I would go home on
foot, instead of returning to explain matters to Sir Hercules. As a
matter of fact, I don't much care for associating with old Blizzard, at
all events, not just now.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AMENITIES OF SPORT
_Huntsman_ (_to Whip, sent forward for a view_). "Haven't ye seen him,
Tom?"
_Whip._ "No, sir."
_Huntsman._ "If he'd been in a pint pot, ye jolly soon would!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HIS LITTLE DODGE
_First Hunting Man_ (_having observed the ticket with "K" on it in his
friend's hat_). "I didn't know that old gee of yours was a kicker. He
looks quiet enough."
_Second Hunting Man._ "Well, he isn't really. I only wear the "K" to
make people give me more room!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: TRUE COURAGE
_Whip._ "Hi, sir! Keep back! The fox may break covert there!"
_Foreigner._ "Bah! I fear him not--your fox."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE FORCE OF HABIT
_Spanner_ (_a great cyclist, whose horse has been startled by man on
covert hack_). "Hi! confound you! Why the deuce don't you sound your
bell!!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE CART WITHOUT THE HORSE"