BRIEN BORU
The next morning, at breakfast, when Frank was alone with Blake, he
explained to him how matters really stood at Grey Abbey. He told him
how impossible he had found it to insist on seeing Miss Wyndham so soon
after her brother’s death, and how disgustingly disagreeable, stiff and
repulsive the earl had been; and, by degrees, they got to talk of other
things, and among them, Frank’s present pecuniary miseries.
“There can be no doubt, I suppose,” said Dot, when Frank had consoled
himself by anathematising the earl for ten minutes, “as to the fact of
Miss Wyndham’s inheriting her brother’s fortune?”
“Faith, I don’t know; I never thought about her fortune if you’ll
believe me. I never even remembered that her brother’s death would in
any way affect her in the way of money, until after I left Grey Abbey.”
“Oh, I can believe you capable of anything in the way of imprudence.”
“Ah, but, Dot, to think of that pompous fool—who sits and caws in that
dingy book-room of his, with as much wise self-confidence as an
antiquated raven—to think of him insinuating that I had come there
looking for Harry Wyndham’s money; when, as you know, I was as ignorant
of the poor fellow’s death as Lord Cashel was himself a week ago.
Insolent blackguard! I would never, willingly, speak another word to
him, or put my foot inside that infernal door of his, if it were to get
ten times all Harry Wyndham’s fortune.”
“Then, if I understand you, you now mean to relinquish your claims to
Miss Wyndham’s hand.”
“No; I don’t believe she ever sent the message her uncle gave me. I
don’t see why I’m to give her up, just because she’s got this money.”
“Nor I, Frank, to tell the truth; especially considering how badly you
want it yourself. But I don’t think quarrelling with the uncle is the
surest way to get the niece.”
“But, man, he quarrelled with me.”
“It takes two people to quarrel. If he quarrelled with you, do you be
the less willing to come to loggerheads with him.”
“Wouldn’t it be the best plan, Dot, to carry her off?”
“She wouldn’t go, my boy: rope ladders and post-chaises are out of
fashion.”
“But if she’s really fond of me—and, upon my honour, I don’t believe
I’m flattering myself in thinking that she is—why the deuce shouldn’t
she marry me, _malgré_ [27] Lord Cashel? She must be her own mistress
in a week or two. By heavens, I cannot stomach that fellow’s arrogant
assumption of superiority.”
“It will be much more convenient for her to marry you _bon gré_ [28]
Lord Cashel, whom you may pitch to the devil, in any way you like best,
as soon as you have Fanny Wyndham at Kelly’s Court. But, till that
happy time, take my advice, and submit to the cawing. Rooks and ravens
are respectable birds, just because they do look so wise. It’s a great
thing to look wise; the doing so does an acknowledged fool, like Lord
Cashel, very great credit.”
“But what ought I to do? I can’t go to the man’s house when he told me
expressly not to do so.”
“Oh, yes, you can: not immediately, but by and by—in a month or six
weeks. I’ll tell you what I should do, in your place; and remember,
Frank, I’m quite in earnest now, for it’s a very different thing
playing a game for twenty thousand pounds, which, to you, joined to a
wife, would have been a positive irreparable loss, and starting for
five or six times that sum, which would give you an income on which you
might manage to live.”
“Well, thou sapient counsellor—but, I tell you beforehand, the chances
are ten to one I sha’n’t follow your plan.”
“Do as you like about that: you sha’n’t, at any rate, have me to blame.
I would in the first place, assure myself that Fanny inherited her
brother’s money.”
“There’s no doubt about that. Lord Cashel said as much.”
“Make sure of it however. A lawyer’ll do that for you, with very little
trouble. Then, take your name off the turf at once; it’s worth your
while to do it now. You may either do it by a _bona fide_ sale of the
horses, or by running them in some other person’s name. Then, watch
your opportunity, call at Grey Abbey, when the earl is not at home, and
manage to see some of the ladies. If you can’t do that, if you can’t
effect an _entrée_, write to Miss Wyndham; don’t be too lachrymose, or
supplicatory, in your style, but ask her to give you a plain answer
personally, or in her own handwriting.”
“And if she declines the honour?”
“If, as you say and as I believe, she loves, or has loved you, I don’t
think she’ll do so. She’ll submit to a little parleying, and then
she’ll capitulate. But it will be much better that you should see her,
if possible, without writing at all.”
“I don’t like the idea of calling at Grey Abbey. I wonder whether
they’ll go to London this season?”
“If they do, you can go after them. The truth is simply this,
Ballindine; Miss Wyndham will follow her own fancy in the matter, in
spite of her guardian; but, if you make no further advances to her, of
course she can make none to you. But I think the game is in your own
hand. You haven’t the head to play it, or I should consider the stakes
as good as won.”
“But then, about these horses, Dot. I wish I could sell them, out and
out, at once.”
“You’ll find it very difficult to get anything like the value for a
horse that’s well up for the Derby. You see, a purchaser must make up
his mind to so much outlay: there’s the purchase-money, and expense of
English training, with so remote a chance of any speedy return.”
“But you said you’d advise me to sell them.”
“That’s if you can get a purchaser:—or else run them in another name.
You may run them in my name, if you like it; but Scott must understand
that I’ve nothing whatever to do with the expense.”
“Would you not buy them yourself, Blake?”
“No. I would not.”
“Why not?”
“If I gave you anything like the value for them, the bargain would not
suit me; and if I got them for what they’d be worth to me, you’d think,
and other people would say, that I’d robbed you.”
Then followed a lengthened and most intricate discourse on the affairs
of the stable. Frank much wanted his friend to take his stud entirely
off his hands, but this Dot resolutely refused to do. In the course of
conversation, Frank owned that the present state of his funds rendered
it almost impracticable for him to incur the expense of sending his
favourite, Brien Boru, to win laurels in England. He had lost nearly
three hundred pounds the previous evening which his account at his
banker’s did not enable him to pay; his Dublin agent had declined
advancing him more money at present, and his tradesmen were very
importunate. In fact, he was in a scrape, and Dot must advise him how
to extricate himself from it.
“I’ll tell you the truth, Ballindine,” said he; “as far as I’m
concerned myself, I never will lend money, except where I see, as a
matter of business, that it is a good speculation to do so. I wouldn’t
do it for my father.”
“Who asked you?” said Frank, turning very red, and looking very angry.
“You did not, certainly; but I thought you might, and you would have
been annoyed when I refused you; now, you have the power of being
indignant, instead. However, having said so much, I’ll tell you what I
think you should do, and what I will do to relieve you, as far as the
horses are concerned. Do you go down to Kelly’s Court, and remain there
quiet for a time. You’ll be able to borrow what money you absolutely
want down there, if the Dublin fellows actually refuse; but do with as
little as you can. The horses shall run in my name for twelve months.
If they win, I will divide with you at the end of the year the amount
won, after deducting their expenses. If they lose, I will charge you
with half the amount lost, including the expenses. Should you not feel
inclined, at the end of the year, to repay me this sum, I will then
keep the horses, instead, or sell them at Dycer’s, if you like it
better, and hand you the balance if there be any. What do you say to
this? You will be released from all trouble, annoyance, and expense,
and the cattle will, I trust, be in good hands.”
“That is to say, that, for one year, you are to possess one half of
whatever value the horses may be?”
“Exactly: we shall be partners for one year.”
“To make that fair,” said Frank, “you ought to put into the concern
three horses, as good and as valuable as my three.”
“Yes; and you ought to bring into the concern half the capital to be
expended in their training; and knowledge, experience, and skill in
making use of them, equal to mine. No, Frank; you’re mistaken if you
think that I can afford to give up my time, merely for the purpose of
making an arrangement to save you from trouble.”
“Upon my word, Dot,” answered the other, “you’re about the coolest hand
I ever met! Did I ask you for your precious time, or anything else?
You’re always afraid that you’re going to be done. Now, you might make
a distinction between me and some of your other friends, and remember
that I am not in the habit of doing anybody.”
“Why, I own I don’t think it very likely that I, or indeed anyone else,
should suffer much from you in that way, for your sin is not too much
sharpness.”
“Then why do you talk about what you can afford to do?”
“Because it’s necessary. I made a proposal which you thought an unfair
one. You mayn’t believe me, but it is a most positive fact, that my
only object in making that proposal was, to benefit you. You will find
it difficult to get rid of your horses on any terms; and yet, with the
very great stake before you in Miss Wyndham’s fortune, it would be
foolish in you to think of keeping them; and, on this account, I
thought in what manner I could take them from you. If they belong to my
stables I shall consider myself bound to run them to the best
advantage, and”—
“Well, well—for heaven’s sake don’t speechify about it.”
“Stop a moment, Frank, and listen, for I must make you understand. I
must make you see that I am not taking advantage of your position, and
trying to rob my own friend in my own house. I don’t care what most
people say of me, for in my career I must expect people to lie of me. I
must, also, take care of myself. But I do wish you to know, that though
I could not disarrange my schemes for you, I would not take you in.”
“Why, Dot—how can you go on so? I only thought I was taking a leaf out
of your book, by being careful to make the best bargain I could.”
“Well, as I was saying—I would run the horses to the best
advantage—especially Brien, for the Derby: by doing so, my whole book
would be upset: I should have to bet all round again—and, very likely,
not be able to get the bets I want. I could not do this without a very
strong interest in the horse. Besides, you remember that I should have
to go over with him to England myself, and that I should be obliged to
be in England a great deal at a time when my own business would require
me here.”
“My dear fellow,” said Frank, “you’re going on as though it were
necessary to defend yourself. I never accused you of anything.”
“Never mind whether you did or no. You understand me now: if it will
suit you, you can take my offer, but I should be glad to know at once.”
While this conversation was going on, the two young men had left the
house, and sauntered out into Blake’s stud-yard. Here were his stables,
where he kept such horses as were not actually in the trainer’s
hands—and a large assortment of aged hunters, celebrated
timber-jumpers, brood mares, thoroughbred fillies, cock-tailed colts,
and promising foals. They were immediately joined by Blake’s stud
groom, who came on business intent, to request a few words with his
master; which meant that Lord Ballindine was to retreat, as it was full
time for his friend to proceed to his regular day’s work. Blake’s groom
was a very different person in appearance, from the sort of servant in
the possession of which the fashionable owner of two or three horses
usually rejoices. He had no diminutive top boots; no loose brown
breeches, buttoned low beneath the knee; no elongated waistcoat with
capacious pockets; no dandy coat with remarkably short tail. He was a
very ugly man of about fifty, named John Bottom, dressed somewhat like
a seedy gentleman; but he understood his business well, and did it; and
was sufficiently wise to know that he served his own pocket best, in
the long run, by being true to his master, and by resisting the
numerous tempting offers which were made to him by denizens of the turf
to play foul with his master’s horses. He was, therefore, a treasure to
Blake; and he knew it, and valued himself accordingly.
“Well, John,” said his master, “I suppose I must desert Lord Ballindine
again, and obey your summons. Your few words will last nearly till
dinner, I suppose?”
“Why, there is a few things, to be sure, ’ll be the better for being
talked over a bit, as his lordship knows well enough. I wish we’d as
crack a nag in our stables, as his lordship.”
“Maybe we may, some day; one down and another come on, you know; as the
butcher-boy said.”
“At any rate, your horses don’t want bottom,” said Frank.
He—he—he! laughed John, or rather tried to do so. He had laughed at
that joke a thousand times; and, in the best of humours, he wasn’t a
merry man.
“Well, Frank,” said Blake, “the cock has crowed; I must away. I suppose
you’ll ride down to Igoe’s, and see Brien: but think of what I’ve said,
and,” he added, whispering—“remember that I will do the best I can for
the animals, if you put them into my stables. They shall be made second
to nothing, and shall only and always run to win.”
So, Blake and John Bottom walked off to the box stables and home
paddocks.
Frank ordered his horse, and complied with his friend’s suggestion, by
riding down to Igoe’s. He was not in happy spirits as he went; he felt
afraid that his hopes, with regard to Fanny, would be blighted; and
that, if he persevered in his suit, he would only be harassed, annoyed,
and disappointed. He did not see what steps he could take, or how he
could manage to see her. It would be impossible for him to go to Grey
Abbey, after having been, as he felt, turned out by Lord Cashel. Other
things troubled him also. What should he now do with himself? It was
true that he could go down to his own house; but everyone at Kelly’s
Court expected him to bring with him a bride and a fortune; and,
instead of that, he would have to own that he had been jilted, and
would be reduced to the disagreeable necessity of borrowing money from
his own tenants. And then, that awful subject, money—took possession of
him. What the deuce was he to do? What a fool he had been, to be
seduced on to the turf by such a man as Blake! And then, he expressed a
wish to himself that Blake had been—a long way off before he ever saw
him. There he was, steward of the Curragh, the owner of the best horse
in Ireland, and absolutely without money to enable him to carry on the
game till he could properly retreat from it!
Then he was a little unfair upon his friend: he accused him of knowing
his position, and wishing to take advantage of it; and, by the time he
had got to Igoe’s, his mind was certainly not in a very charitable mood
towards poor Dot. He had, nevertheless, determined to accept his offer,
and to take a last look at the three Milesians.
The people about the stables always made a great fuss with Lord
Ballindine, partly because he was one of the stewards, and partly
because he was going to run a crack horse for the Derby in England; and
though, generally speaking, he did not care much for personal
complimentary respect, he usually got chattered and flattered into good
humour at Igoe’s.
“Well, my lord,” said a sort of foreman, or partner, or managing man,
who usually presided over the yard, “I think we’ll be apt to get
justice to Ireland on the downs this year. That is, they’ll give us
nothing but what we takes from ’em by hard fighting, or running, as the
case may be.”
“How’s Brien looking this morning, Grady?”
“As fresh as a primrose, my lord, and as clear as crystal: he’s ready,
this moment, to run through any set of three years old as could be put
on the Curragh, anyway.”
“I’m afraid you’re putting him on too forward.”
“Too forrard, is it, my lord? not a bit. He’s a hoss as naturally don’t
pick up flesh; though he feeds free, too. He’s this moment all wind and
bottom, though, as one may say, he’s got no training. He’s niver been
sthretched yet. Faith it’s thrue I’m telling you, my lord.”
“I know Scott doesn’t like getting horses, early in the season, that
are too fine—too much drawn up; he thinks they lose power by it, and so
they do;—it’s the distance that kills them, at the Derby. It’s so hard
to get a young horse to stay the distance.”
“That’s thrue, shure enough, my lord; and there isn’t a gentleman this
side the wather, anyway, undherstands thim things betther than your
lordship.”
“Well, Grady, let’s have a look at the young chieftain: he’s all right
about the lungs, anyway.”
“And feet too, my lord; niver saw a set of claner feet with plates on:
and legs too! If you were to canter him down the road, I don’t think
he’d feel it; not that I’d like to thry, though.”
“Why, he’s not yet had much to try them.”
“Faix, he has, my lord: didn’t he win the Autumn Produce Stakes?”
“The only thing he ever ran for.”
“Ah, but I tell you, as your lordship knows very well—no one
betther—that it’s a ticklish thing to bring a two year old to the post,
in anything like condition—with any running in him at all, and not hurt
his legs.”
“But I think he’s all right—eh, Grady?”
“Right?—your lordship knows he’s right. I wish he may be made righter
at John Scott’s, that’s all. But that’s unpossible.”
“Of course, Grady, you think he might be trained here, as well as at
the other side of the water?”
“No, I don’t, my lord: quite different. I’ve none of thim ideas at all,
and never had, thank God. I knows what we can do, and I knows what they
can do:—breed a hoss in Ireland, train him in the North of England, and
run him in the South; and he’ll do your work for you, and win your
money, steady and shure.”
“And why not run in the North, too?”
“They’re too ’cute, my lord: they like to pick up the crumbs
themselves—small blame to thim in that matther. No; a bright Irish nag,
with lots of heart, like Brien Boru, is the hoss to stand on for the
Derby; where all run fair and fair alike, the best wins;—but I won’t
say but he’ll be the betther for a little polishing at Johnny Scott’s.”
“Besides, Grady, no horse could run immediately after a sea voyage. Do
you remember what a show we made of Peter Simple at Kilrue?”
“To be shure I does, my lord: besides, they’ve proper gallops there,
which we haven’t—and they’ve betther manes of measuring horses:—why,
they can measure a horse to half a pound, and tell his rale pace on a
two-mile course, to a couple of seconds.—Take the sheets off, Larry,
and let his lordship run his hand over him. He’s as bright as a star,
isn’t he?”
“I think you’re getting him too fine. I’m sure Scott’ll say so.”
“Don’t mind him, my lord. He’s not like one of those English cats, with
jist a dash of speed about ’em, and nothing more—brutes that they put
in training half a dozen times in as many months. Thim animals pick up
a lot of loose, flabby flesh in no time, and loses it in less; and, in
course, av’ they gets a sweat too much, there’s nothin left in ’em; not
a hapoth. Brien’s a different guess sort of animal from that.”
“Were you going to have him out, Grady?”
“Why, we was not—that is, only just for walking exercise, with his
sheets on: but a canter down the half mile slope, and up again by the
bushes won’t go agin him.”
“Well, saddle him then, and let Pat get up.”
“Yes, my lord”; and Brien was saddled by the two men together, with
much care and ceremony; and Pat was put up—“and now, Pat,” continued
Grady, “keep him well in hand down the slope—don’t let him out at all
at all, till you come to the turn: when you’re fairly round the corner,
just shake your reins the laste in life, and when you’re halfway up the
rise, when the lad begins to snort a bit, let him just see the end of
the switch—just raise it till it catches his eye; and av’ he don’t show
that he’s disposed for running, I’m mistaken. We’ll step across to the
bushes, my lord, and see him come round.”
Lord Ballindine and the managing man walked across to the bushes
accordingly, and Pat did exactly as he was desired. It was a pretty
thing to see the beautiful young animal, with his sleek brown coat
shining like a lady’s curls, arching his neck, and throwing down his
head, in his impatience to start. He was the very picture of health and
symmetry; when he flung up his head you’d think the blood was running
from his nose, his nostrils were so ruddy bright. He cantered off in
great impatience, and fretted and fumed because the little fellow on
his back would be the master, and not let him have his play—down the
slope, and round the corner by the trees. It was beautiful to watch
him, his motions were so easy, so graceful. At the turn he answered to
the boy’s encouragement, and mended his pace, till again he felt the
bridle, and then, as the jock barely moved his right arm, he bounded up
the rising ground, past the spot where Lord Ballindine and the trainer
were standing, and shot away till he was beyond the place where he knew
his gallop ordinarily ended. As Grady said, he hadn’t yet been
stretched; he had never yet tried his own pace, and he had that look so
beautiful in a horse when running, of working at his ease, and much
within his power.
“He’s a beautiful creature,” said Lord Ballindine, as he mournfully
reflected that he was about to give up to Dot Blake half the possession
of his favourite, and the whole of the nominal title. It was such a
pity he should be so hampered; the mere _éclat_ of possessing such a
horse was so great a pleasure; “He is a fine creature,” said he, “and,
I am sure, will do well.”
“Your lordship may say that: he’ll go precious nigh to astonish the
Saxons, I think. I suppose the pick-up at the Derby’ll be nigh four
thousand this year.”
“I suppose it will—something like that.”
“Well; I would like a nag out of our stables to do the trick on the
downs, and av’ we does it iver, it’ll be now. Mr Igoe’s standing a deal
of cash on him. I wonder is Mr Blake standing much on him, my lord?”
“You’d be precious deep, Grady, if you could find what he’s doing in
that way.”
“That’s thrue for you, my lord; but av’ he, or your lordship, wants to
get more on, now’s the time. I’ll lay twenty thousand pounds this
moment, that afther he’s been a fortnight at Johnny Scott’s the odds
agin him won’t be more than ten to one, from that day till the morning
he comes out on the downs.”
“I dare say not.”
“I wondher who your lordship’ll put up?”
“That must depend on Scott, and what sort of a string he has running.
He’s nothing, as yet, high in the betting, except Hardicanute.”
“Nothing, my lord; and, take my word for it, that horse is ownly jist
run up for the sake of the betting; that’s not his nathural position.
Well, Pat, you may take the saddle off. Will your lordship see the mare
out to-day?”
“Not to-day, Grady. Let’s see, what’s the day she runs?”
“The fifteenth of May, my lord. I’m afraid Mr Watts’ Patriot ’ll be too
much for her; that’s av’ he’ll run kind; but he don’t do that always.
Well, good morning to your lordship.”
“Good morning, Grady;” and Frank rode back towards Handicap Lodge.
He had a great contest with himself on his road home. He had hated the
horses two days since, when he was at Grey Abbey, and had hated
himself, for having become their possessor; and now he couldn’t bear
the thought of parting with them. To be steward of the Curragh—to own
the best horse of the year—and to win the Derby, were very pleasant
things in themselves; and for what was he going to give over all this
glory, pleasure and profit, to another? To please a girl who had
rejected him, even jilted him, and to appease an old earl who had
already turned him out of his house! No, he wouldn’t do it. By the time
that he was half a mile from Igoe’s stables he had determined that, as
the girl was gone it would be a pity to throw the horses after her; he
would finish this year on the turf; and then, if Fanny Wyndham was
still her own mistress after Christmas, he would again ask her her
mind. “If she’s a girl of spirit,” he said to himself—“and nobody knows
better than I do that she is, she won’t like me the worse for having
shown that I’m not to be led by the nose by a pompous old fool like
Lord Cashel,” and he rode on, fortifying himself in this resolution,
for the second half mile. “But what the deuce should he do about
money?” There was only one more half mile before he was again at
Handicap Lodge.—Guinness’s people had his title-deeds, and he knew he
had twelve hundred a year after paying the interest of the old
incumbrances. They hadn’t advanced him much since he came of age;
certainly not above five thousand pounds; and it surely was very hard
he could not get five or six hundred pounds when he wanted it so much;
it was very hard that he shouldn’t be able to do what he liked with his
own, like the Duke of Newcastle. However, the money must be had: he
must pay Blake and Tierney the balance of what they had won at whist,
and the horse couldn’t go over the water till the wind was raised. If
he was driven very hard he might get something from Martin Kelly. These
unpleasant cogitations brought him over the third half mile, and he
rode through the gate of Handicap Lodge in a desperate state of
indecision.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Dot,” he said, when he met his friend
coming in from his morning’s work; “and I’m deuced sorry to do it, for
I shall be giving you the best horse of his year, and something tells
me he’ll win the Derby.”
“I suppose ‘something’ means old Jack Igoe, or that blackguard Grady,”
said Dot. “But as to his winning, that’s as it may be. You know the
chances are sixteen to one he won’t.”
“Upon my honour I don’t think they are.”
“Will you take twelve to one?”
“Ah! youk now, Dot, I’m not now wanting to bet on the horse with you. I
was only saying that I’ve a kind of inward conviction that he will
win.”
“My dear Frank,” said the other, “if men selling horses could also sell
their inward convictions with them, what a lot of articles of that
description there would be in the market! But what were you going to
say you’d do?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll agree to your terms providing you’ll
pay half the expenses of the horses since the last race each of them
ran. You must see that would be only fair, supposing the horses
belonged to you, equally with me, ever since that time.”
“It would be quite fair, no doubt, if I agreed to it: it would be quite
fair also if I agreed to give you five hundred pounds; but I will do
neither one nor the other.”
“But look here, Dot—Brien ran for the Autumn Produce Stakes last
October, and won them: since then he has done nothing to reimburse me
for his expense, nor yet has anything been taken out of him by running.
Surely, if you are to have half the profits, you should at any rate pay
half the expenses?”
“That’s very well put, Frank; and if you and I stood upon equal ground,
with an arbiter between us by whose decision we were bound to abide,
and to whom the settlement of the question was entrusted, your
arguments would, no doubt, be successful, but—”
“Well that’s the fair way of looking at it.”
“But, as I was going to say, that’s not the case. We are neither of us
bound to take any one’s decision; and, therefore, any terms which
either of us chooses to accept must be fair. Now I have told you my
terms—the lowest price, if you like to call it so,—at which I will give
your horses the benefit of my experience, and save you from their
immediate pecuniary pressure; and I will neither take any other terms,
nor will I press these on you.”
“Why, Blake, I’d sooner deal with all the Jews of Israel—”
“Stop, Frank: one word of abuse, and I’ll wash my hands of the matter
altogether.”
“Wash away then, I’ll keep the horses, though I have to sell my hunters
and the plate at Kelly’s Court into the bargain.”
“I was going to add—only your energy’s far too great to allow of a slow
steady man like me finishing his sentence—I was going to say that, if
you’re pressed for money as you say, and if it will be any
accommodation, I will let you have two hundred and fifty pounds at five
per cent. on the security of the horses; that is, that you will be
charged with that amount, and the interest, in the final closing of the
account at the end of the year, before the horses are restored to you.”
Had an uninterested observer been standing by he might have seen with
half an eye that Blake’s coolness was put on, and that his indifference
to the bargain was assumed. This offer of the loan was a second bid,
when he found the first was likely to be rejected: it was made, too, at
the time that he was positively declaring that he would make none but
the first offer. Poor Frank!—he was utterly unable to cope with his
friend at the weapons with which they were playing, and he was
consequently most egregiously plundered. But it was in an affair of
horse-flesh, and the sporting world, when it learned the terms on which
the horses were transferred from Lord Ballindine’s name to that of Mr
Blake, had not a word of censure to utter against the latter. He was
pronounced to be very wide awake, and decidedly at the top of his
profession; and Lord Ballindine was spoken of, for a week, with
considerable pity and contempt.
When Blake mentioned the loan Frank got up, and stood with his back to
the fire; then bit his lips, and walked twice up and down the room,
with his hands in his pockets, and then he paused, looked out of the
window, and attempted to whistle: then he threw himself into an
armchair, poked out both his legs as far as he could, ran his fingers
through his hair, and set to work hard to make up his mind. But it was
no good; in about five minutes he found he could not do it; so he took
out his purse, and, extracting half-a-crown, threw it up to the
ceiling, saying,
“Well, Dot—head or harp? If you’re right, you have them.”
“Harp,” cried Dot.
They both examined the coin. “They’re yours,” said Frank, with much
solemnity; “and now you’ve got the best horse—yes, I believe the very
best horse alive, for nothing.”
“Only half of him, Frank.”
“Well,” said Frank; “it’s done now, I suppose.”
“Oh, of course it is,” said Dot: “I’ll draw out the agreement, and give
you a cheque for the money to-night.”
And so he did; and Frank wrote a letter to Igoe, authorizing him to
hand over the horses to Mr Blake’s groom, stating that he had sold
them—for so ran his agreement with Dot—and desiring that his bill for
training, &c., might be forthwith forwarded to Kelly’s Court. Poor
Frank! he was ashamed to go to take a last look at his dear favourites,
and tell his own trainer that he had sold his own horses.
The next morning saw him, with his servant, on the Ballinasloe coach,
travelling towards Kelly’s Court; and, also, saw Brien Boru, Granuell,
and Finn M’Goul led across the downs, from Igoe’s stables to Handicap
Lodge.
The handsome sheets, hoods, and rollers, in which they had hitherto
appeared, and on which the initial B was alone conspicuous, were
carefully folded up, and they were henceforth seen in plainer, but as
serviceable apparel, labelled W. B.
“Will you give fourteen to one against Brien Boru?” said Viscount Avoca
to Lord Tathenham Corner, about ten days after this, at Tattersall’s.
“I will,” said Lord Tathenham.
“In hundreds?” said the sharp Irishman.
“Very well,” said Lord Tathenham; and the bet was booked.
“You didn’t know, I suppose,” said the successful viscount, “that Dot
Blake has bought Brien Boru?”
“And who the devil’s Dot Blake?” said Lord Tathenham.
“Oh! you’ll know before May’s over,” said the viscount.