"Ah," said Pratt, after a brisk walk, "it might have been worse; it all
comes of getting on knife-boards. I never do go on a 'bus but I'm sure
to meet some one I don't want to see from that elevated position. Let's
see: in somebody's fables one poor bird got his neck wrung through being
in bad company, and getting caught by the fowler."
"And what has that to do with knife-boards?"
"Only this," said Frank, grimly; "I should uncommonly like to see that
barouche; and the cocky old gentleman inside will be safe to give us
credit for being the ringleaders of those rowdies."
"Well, never mind," said Trevor; "I wanted to see a steeplechase, though
I don't suppose I shall like it any more than a ball."
No more was said then, for they had reached the ground flagged out for
the course--a pleasant tract running round in front of a mound-like
hill, affording the spectators from the various stands a capital view of
the whole race; save where here and there a tiny copse intervened, so
that it must inevitably hide the horses for a few moments.
They were in ample time, for twelve, one, and two o'clock upon racing
cards are very different hours to those represented upon the time-tables
at our various termini; so they had a stroll round, pausing here or
there; but, no matter where they strayed, so sure as Frank Pratt turned
his head, it was to see the evil-looking countenance of their companion
on the omnibus close at hand, though whether Trevor had seen him or not
he could not tell.
For, probably from a love of the beautiful, the young men's steps
generally led them to where they could stand in pretty close proximity
to the barouche--whose occupants seemed to have, for one at least,
something of an attraction. And no wonder; for on the front seat were
two fresh, bright-eyed English girls, whose eyes sparkled with
animation, and in whose cheeks came and went the bright colour that told
you of excited interest in the day's proceedings.
"I thought as much," said Pratt, as they passed once close by the
carriage on their way to the stand, and a quick glance showed that they
were recognised by the ladies, who coloured slightly, and turned away;
whilst the old gentleman's countenance, as he stood up, gradually
assumed the purply-red well known to all who have seen a turkey-cock at
such time as he ruffleth his plumes, and scowled fiercely at the
friends.
"The impudent scoundrels!" he said aloud, as he turned to the elderly
lady at his side.
"That comes of being in bad company," said Pratt. "Dick, old fellow, I
shall walk back. Here, my friend, I have feeling in my toe."
"Beg pardon, sir, I'm sure," said a fine, handsome, bluff
West-countryman--a regular keeper, in brown velveteens; "I really didn't
see you." And he passed on towards the barouche, the friends following
him with their eyes, to see him touch his hat to first one and then
another of the inmates, who smiled, and seemed to talk to him in a very
animated way, the old gentleman ending by pointing to the box-seat, a
good post for seeing, to which the young man climbed.
"Lucky dog!" said Frank Pratt, softly; and they took their places on the
stand, from which, close at hand, they could readily command the
movements of all in the barouche.
But there was the ground mapped out by the little flags; green field,
ploughed piece, brook, road, double fence, bullfinch; a cluster of
spectators by this dangerous leap; a pollard laden with human fruit
there; oak branches bending, groups of mounted men, with here and there
the flutter of veil and riding-habit; vehicles in pastures, lanes, and
wherever a glimpse could be obtained of the course; and over all the
bright unclouded sun looked down, gilding, with its mellow beams, brown
stubble and changing leaf; while overhead, little troubled by the
buzzing crowds, a lark carolled its sweet song.
The friends were in ample time; but at last the excitement here and
there announced the coming of the horses, and one by one the sleek,
fleet creatures made their appearance to give the customary canter down
the field, and then be gathered together for the start.
At last a low, dull, murmurous buzz runs through the crowd. They are
off--nearly all together. The first hedge--only a preparation for
troubles to come--and the horses going easily over a ploughed piece, the
young and ardent jockeys pushing to the front, the old stagers waiting
their opportunity.
Another hedge. A refusal. One--two--four--six--nine over somehow or
another, and one down.
Then a loud cheer, by no means pleasant for the fallen man; and "for the
fun of the thing," as he said, Trevor began to back the grey mare known
as White Lassie.
"How can you be so foolish?" said Pratt.
"So," said Trevor, laughing; and he doubled his stakes with another.
"I believe we should be better off there on the knoll," said Pratt,
pointing to the spot where the barouche was standing hemmed in by the
crowd.
And acting upon the suggestion, the two friends quitted the low,
temporary stand, and managed to get a pretty good position on the little
eminence, where they could see right down the valley with the horses
running along its slope.
But Pratt saw more than this; he noted that they were within half a
dozen yards of the barouche where the ladies were standing on the seats,
with eyes sparkling and parted lips, whilst close at hand were Barney,
of the omnibus, and a couple of his intimates, demonstrative in their
comments upon the race.
Of the eleven horses that started, four had, in hunting parlance, come
to grief; and now of the others only five seemed to be in the race.
"Twenty pounds fooled away, Dick," said Pratt, in a whisper, as they now
made out, the last of the five, the white cap and pale blue shirt of the
rider of White Lassie.
"Be quiet, raven," was the calm reply; "the race is not won yet. Look
at that."
_That_ was the downfall of the leading horse at the next fence, the poor
beast literally turning a somersault, and then getting up to stand
shaking itself, as the other competitors got safely over; White Lassie,
still last clearing the obstacle with ease.
"Now comes the tug of war," said Trevor; and all eyes were strained in
the direction now taken by the horses towards a tolerably wide brook
running between stunted pollards; for this once passed, there was only a
low fence, and a straight run in to the winning post.
The betting on all sides was now fast and furious, Pratt biting his lips
with vexation as, in spite of the distance his favourite was behind,
Trevor kept making fresh engagements.
"He'll lose as much in ten minutes as would have kept me for a year,"
Pratt grumbled to himself; and then he was all eyes for the race, as, on
reaching the brook, the leading horse stopped short and shot his rider
right into the middle.
The next horse leaped short, and came into the brook with his hoofs
pawing the crumbling bank, the rider having to crawl over his head, and
help him ignominiously from his position. But long ere this, a great
bay had cleared the brook easily, closely followed by White Lassie,
whose rider now seemed to press her forward till she was not more than a
length in the rear, the two horses racing hard for the last leap.
At a distance it looked but a low hedge, but there was a deep dyke on
the riders' side which would require no little skill to clear; and now,
of course, the slightest slip would be fatal to either.
"Don't look so bad now, does it, Franky?" said Trevor.
"No," said the other between his teeth. "Look, how close they are. I
couldn't have--bravo!"
For the mare had run up alongside of her great competitor, and together
they literally skimmed over the obstacle in front, and landing on the
stretch of smooth green sward, raced for home.
"King Dick!"
"White Lassie!"
"King Dick!"
"White Lassie!"
"White Lassie!"
"White Lassie!" rose in a perfect roar, as first one and then the other
head appeared in front, till, within a hundred yards of the stand, the
white mare's head--neck--shoulders--half-length--whole length appeared
in front of her competitor, and, amidst the frantic cheers of the crowd,
she leaped in, a clear winner.
"There," said Trevor, turning with a smile to Pratt, "what do--"
He stopped short, and seemed to have tried to emulate the last hound of
the mare; for at that moment, all excitement as she watched the race,
Trevor saw one of the occupants of the barouche give a sudden start, and
nearly fall over the side.
The cause was simple, and was seen by Pratt at the same moment.
Barney, of the omnibus, for the delectation of his friends, had, the
moment the race was ended, raised his stick, reached over the heads of
the crowd, and given the old gentleman a sharp thrust in the ribs.
The result was a violent start, and, as we have said, the young girl was
nearly precipitated from the seat upon which she stood.
A hoarse roar of laughter followed the clown-like feat; and then there
was a dead silence, for a fresh character appeared upon the scene, and
Barney was stooping down shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness
caused by a tremendous blow upon his bull-dog front.
The silence lasted but for a few moments, dining which Richard Trevor
caught one frightened glance from the lady in the barouche, and then
there was an ugly rush, and he and his friend were borne down the slope
of the hill.
The crowd seemed bubbling and seething with excitement for a few
minutes, during which the voices of Barney's friends could be heard
loudly exclaiming amongst them; and the gentleman named, in whose eyes
the tears had previously been gathering from the excess of his mirth,
was borne along with the others, still shaking his head, and feeling as
if the drops that collected had suddenly been turned to molten metal.
"Come away, Dick; for goodness' sake come away."
"My dear Frank, if you fill a vessel quite full, it begins to run over.
This ungodly vessel has been filled full of the gall of bitterness
to-day, and now it is running over."
"But, consider--what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to thrash this fellow within an inch of his life."
"But, Dick--the disgrace--you can't fight; you've punished him enough.
Think of what you're going to do."
"I am thinking," said Trevor, in a quiet, slow way--"thinking that he's
an ugly customer, and that his head looks precious hard."
"Keep back!"--"Make a ring!"--"Let him have it!"
"Now, Barney!" shouted the bystanders.
"Here, let me get at him!" shouted Barney.
"Call up the police!" said a mounted gentleman. "You can't fight that
fellow, sir."
"I'm going to try," said Trevor, grimly.
There was a buzz of voices, the crowd swayed here and there, and an
opening was made--Barney having struggled out of his upper garments, and
begun to square--when, to the surprise of all, he was suddenly
confronted by the stout-built West-country-man, who had leaped off the
box of the barouche, now on the other side of the hill; and before the
fellow had recovered from his surprise, he was sent staggering back into
the arms of his friends with a sensation as if a hive of bees, suddenly
let loose, were buzzing and stinging in his head.
That was the end of the engagement, for there was a rush of police
through the crowd, people were separated, and by the time Frank Pratt
had fought his way out of a state of semi-suffocation, he was standing
with his friend fifty yards away, and the constables were hurrying two
men off to the station.
"Let's get back," said Trevor. "I can't let that fellow bear all the
brunt of the affair."
Pratt felt disposed to dissuade, but he gave way, and they got to the
outskirts with no little difficulty, just in time to see that the
barouche horses had been put to, and that the carriage was being driven
off the ground with the West-countryman upon the box.
"He's out of the pickle, then," said Pratt.
"There, come away, man; the police have, for once in a way, caught the
right offender; don't let's get mixed up with it any more."
"Very well," said Dick, calmly. "I feel better now; but I should have
liked to soundly thrash that scoundrel."
"It's done for you," said Pratt. "Now let's go and get in your bets."
"I'm afraid, Franky," said Trevor, "that you are not only a mercenary
man, but a great--I mean little coward."
"Quite right--you're quite right," said Pratt. "I am mercenary because
the money's useful, and enables a man to pay his laundress; and as to
being a coward, I am--a dreadful coward. I wouldn't mind if it were
only skin, that will grow again; but fancy being ragged about and
muddied in tussle with that fellow! Why, my dear Dick, I should have
been six or seven pounds out of pocket in no time."
"I wonder who those girls were in the barouche," said Trevor, after a
pause.
"Daresay you do," was the reply; "so do I. Sweet girls--very; but you
may make yourself quite easy; you will never see either of them again."
"Don't know," said Trevor, slowly. "This is a very little place, this
world, and I have often run against people I knew in the most
out-of-the-way places."
"Yes, you may do so abroad," said Pratt; "but here, in England, you
never do anything of the kind, except in novels. I saw a girl once at
the chrysanthemum show in the Temple, and hoped I should ran against her
again some day, but I never did. She wasn't so nice, though, as these."
Trevor smiled, and then, encountering one or two gentlemen with whom he
had made bets, a little pecuniary business followed, after which the
friends strolled along the course.
"By the way," said Trevor, "I was just thinking it rather hard upon our
friend of the omnibus; those policemen pounced upon him and walked him
off, without much consideration of the case. Well, I don't want to see
the fellow again; he made my blood boil to-day."
"Then you will see him, you may depend upon it," said Pratt. "That's
just the awkwardness of fate, or whoever the lady is that manages these
matters. Owe a man ten pounds, and you will meet him every day like
clock-work."
"Why, Franky," said Trevor, laying his hand upon the other's arm, and
speaking with the old schoolboy familiarity, "I can't help noticing
these money allusions. Have you been very short at times?"
There was a pause of a few moments' duration, and then Pratt said,
shortly--"Awfully!"
They walked on then in silence, which was broken at last by Pratt, who
said in a hurried way--
"That accounts for my shabby, screwy ways, Dick, so forgive me for
having developed into such a mean little beggar. You see, the governor
died and left madam with barely enough to live on, and then she pinched
for my education, and she had to fight through it all to get ready for
my call to the bar, where, in our innocence--bless us!--we expected that
briefs would come showering in, and that, once started in chambers in
the Temple, my fortune would be made."
"And the briefs do not shower down yet, Franky?" said Trevor.
"Don't come even in drops. Haven't had occasion for an umbrella once
yet. So I went out to Egypt with Landells, you know, and wrote letters
and articles for the Geographical; and, somehow, I got elected to the
`Wanderers,' and--here's the gorgeous Van and little Flick."
"Ah, Trevor, my dear boy!" said the first-named gentleman, sauntering
up, "thought we should see you somewhere. Flick, have the goodness to
slip that into the case for me."
As he spoke, he handed the race-glass he held in his delicately-gloved
hands to the young baronet, who looked annoyed, but closed the glass,
and slipped it into the sling-case hanging at his companion's side.
"We should have seen you before, but we came upon a pair of rural houris
in a barouche."
"Where?" said Pratt, sharply.
"Ah, Pratt--you there? How do?" said the Captain, coolly. "Over the
other side of the course, in a lane. I couldn't get Landells away."
"Oh--come!" drawled the young baronet.
"Had his glass turned upon them, and there he was, perfectly
transfixed."
"Boot was on the other foot, 'sure you," said Sir Felix. "It was Van
first made the discovery. It was so, indeed."
"What, going?" said Vanleigh, as Trevor moved on.
"Yes; we were going to walk all round the course."
"No use to go houri hunting," said Vanleigh, maliciously. "The barouche
has gone."
Trevor coloured slightly, and then more deeply, as he saw a smile on the
Captain's lip.
"We shall see you again, I daresay, by the stand," he said, taking no
notice of the allusion; and, laying a hand upon Pratt's shoulder, he
strolled away.
"Well," he said, after a few minutes, "the barouche had not quite
disappeared, Franky."
"No," said the other, shortly. "Better for its occupants if it had. I
say, Dick, if I had sisters, it would make me feel mad every time that
fellow looked at them."
"What--Landells?"
"Oh no, Felix is a good sort of fellow enough; getting spoiled, but I
don't think there's a great deal of harm in him. I've taken a dislike
to Van, and I'm afraid I'm rather bitter, and--look, there goes, the
barouche! Quick, lend me your glass!"
"Thanks, no, Franky," said Trevor, quietly, raising it to his eyes, and
watching the carriage, which was going down a lane to their left, the
owner having apparently given orders for the postboy to drive them from
place to place, where they could get a view of the races, which had
succeeded each other pretty quickly. "Thanks, no, I will keep it; but,
for your delectation, I may mention that the ladies look very charming,
the old gentleman very important; and--now they are gone."
He replaced the glass in its case, smiled good-humouredly at his
companion, and they walked on.
"Dick," said Pratt, after a few moments' silence, "if I were a
good-looking fellow like you, I should get married."
"And how about yourself?" said the other, smiling.
"Self? I marry? My dear old fellow, marriage is a luxury for the rich.
I should be very sorry to starve a wife, and--I say, though, I'm as
hungry as a hunter. Take me back to London, old fellow, and feed me,
without you want to stay."
"Stay--not I!" said Trevor; "a very little of this sort of thing goes a
long way with me. But about those two fellows?"
"Let them try to exist without our company, for once in a way," said
Pratt, looking earnestly at his friend, who was busy once more with the
glass; but, catching his companion's eye, Trevor closed the binocular,
and they left the course.
Volume 1, Chapter V.