["The Country knows ... what it is we desire to do. What the
Right Hon. Gentleman (Mr. GLADSTONE) desires to do no human
being knows. If we have done our part, as we have done, to
clear the issues, all we can ask him is to do his part, to
lay before the electorate of this country in the same plain,
unmistakable outline, the policy which he desires to see
adopted."--_Mr. Balfour on Second Reading of Irish Local
Government Bill._]
SCENE--_The Paddock, before the Great Race. Rising Young
Jockey_, ARTHUR BALFOUR, _mounted on the Crack Irish Horse.
Enter Grand Old Jockey, at the moment minus a mount._
_Grand Old Jockey_ (_aside_). Humph! Don't look so bad, now, despite
the dead set
That against him we've made since his very first running,
Do they mean him to win after all? Artful set,
That Stable! It strikes me they've been playing cunning.
One wouldn't have backed him, first off, for a bob.
His owner concerning him scarcely seemed caring.
Eugh! No one supposed he was fair "on the job";
A mere trial-horse, simply "out for an airing."
When he first stripped in public he looked such a screw,
He was hailed with a general chorus of laughter;
Young BAL seemed abashed at the general yahboo!
And pooh-poohed his new mount! What the doose is he after?
I'm bound to admit the Horse _looks_ pretty fit,
And the boy sits him well, and as though he meant _trying_.
I say, this won't do! I must bounce him a bit.
Most awkward, you know, if his "slug" takes to _flying_!
_Rising Young Jockey_ (_aside_). Hillo! There's Old WILLIAM! He's out
on the scoot.
The artful Old Hand! Hope he'll like what he looks on!
He slated this nag as a peacocky brute,
Whose utter collapse they've been building their books on.
How now, my spry veteran? Only a boy
On a three-legged crock? Well, I own you are older,
And watching your riding's a thing to enjoy;
There isn't a Jock who is defter _and_ bolder;
Your power, authority, eloquence--yes,
For your gift of the gab is a caution--are splendid;
But--the youngster _may_ teach you a lesson, I guess,
As to judgment of pace ere the contest is ended.
_Grand Old Jockey_ (_aloud_). Well, ARTHUR my lad, in the saddle
again!
Is _that_ your crack mount?
_Rising Young Jockey._ The identical one, WILL.
_Grand Old Jockey._ Dear, dear, what a pity! It quite gives me pain
To see you so wasted.
_Rising Young Jockey._ That's only your fun, WILL.
_Grand Old Jockey._ Nay, nay, not at all! Don't think much of his
points.
He's not bred like a true-blood, nor built like a winner.
Not well put together, so coarse in his joints,
In fact--only fit for a hunting-pack's dinner!
_Rising Young Jockey_ (_laughing_). Oh! "Cat's-meat!" is your cry, is
it, WILLIAM? Well, well!
We shall see about that when the winning-post's handy.
_Grand Old Jockey._ _You_ won't, my brave boy; that a novice could
tell.
You'll be left in the ruck at the end, my young dandy,
_Rising Young Jockey._ Perhaps! Still the pencillers haven't,--as
yet--
Quite knocked the nag out with their furious fever
Of hot opposition. Some cool ones still bet
On his chance of a win.
_Grand Old Jockey_ (_contemptuously_). Ah, you're wonderful clever.
But we have got one in _our_ Stable, my lad,
Who can--just lick his head off!
_Rising Young Jockey_ (_drily_). Now have you indeed, WILL?
I fancy I've heard that before. Very glad
That your lot are in luck; and I hope you'll succeed, WILL,
But bless me! yours seems such a _very_ Dark Horse!
Oh! there, don't fire up so! Your word I won't doubt, WILL.
You say so, and one must believe you, of course;
But--_isn't_ it time that you _brought the nag out_, WILL?
* * * * *
[Illustration: A VERY "DARK HORSE."
OLD JOCKEY. "DON'T THINK MUCH OF HIS POINTS! WE'VE ONE IN OUR STABLE
CAN LICK HIS HEAD OFF!"