A SENSATIONAL DERBY STRUGGLE
Is it for sordid pelf that horses race?
Or can it be the glory that they go for?
Neither; they know the steed that shows best pace
Will get his flogging all the sooner over!
_Reflection at a Racecourse.--H. B. J._
The Duchess, seeing that her plot was foiled by the unexpected arrival
of Mr Bhosh, made the frantic endeavour to hedge herself behind another
bet of a million sterling to a monkey that _Milky Way_ was to come off
conqueror--but in vain, since none of the welshers would concede such
very long odds.
So, wrapping her features in a veil of feminine duplicity, she advanced
swimmingly to meet Mr Bhosh. "How lucky that you have arrived on the
neck of time!" she said. "And you have ridden all the way from town?
Tell me now, would not you and your dear horse like some refreshment
after so tedious a journey?"
"Madam," said Mr Bhosh, bowing to his saddle-bow, while his optics
remained fixed upon the Duchess with a withering glare. "We are not
taking any--from _your_ hands."
This crushing sarcasm totally abashed the Duchess, who perceived that he
had penetrated her schemes and crept away in discomfiture.
After this incident _Milky Way_ was subjected to the ordeal of trying
her weight, which she passed with honours. For--very fortunately as it
turned out--the twenty-four hours' starvation which she had endured as
left luggage had reduced her to the prescribed number of _maunds_, which
she would otherwise have infallibly exceeded, since Mr Bhosh, being as
yet a tyro in training Derby cracks, had allowed her to acquire a
superfluous obesity.
Thus once more the machinations of the Duchess had only benefited the
very individual they were intended to injure!
But it remained necessary to hire a practical jockey, since Cadwallader
Perkin was still lamenting in dust and ashes at home, so Mr Bhosh ran
about from pillow to post endeavouring to borrow a rider for _Milky
Way_.
Owing, probably, to the Duchess's artifices, he encountered nothing but
refusals and pleas of previous engagement--until, at the end of the
tether of his patience, he said: "Since my mare cannot compete in a
riderless condition, I myself will assume command and steer her to
victory!"
Upon which gallant speech the entire air became darkened by clouds of
upthrown hats and shouts of "Bravo, Bindabun!"
But upon this the pertinacious Duchess lodged the objection that he was
not in correct toggery, and that, even if he still retained his tall
hat, it would be contrary to etiquette to ride the Derby in a frock
coat.
"Where are his racing colours?" she demanded.
"_Here!_" cried Mr Bhosh, pulling forth the cream and sky-blue silken
jacket and cap from his pockets, and, discarding his frock coat, he
assumed the garbage of a jockey in the twinkle of a jiffy.
"I protest," then cried the undaunted Duchess, "against such cruelty to
animals as racing an overblown mare so soon after she has galloped from
London!"
"Your stricture is just, O humane and distinguished lady," responded the
judge, who had conceived a violent attachment to _Milky Way_ and her
owner, "and I will willingly postpone the race for an hour or two until
the horse has recovered her breeze."
"Quite unnecessary!" said Bindabun. "My mare is not such a weakling as
you imagine, and will be as fit as a flea after she has imbibed one or
two champagne bottles."
And his prediction was literally fulfilled, for the champagne soon
rendered _Milky Way_ playful as a kitten. Mr Bhosh ascended into his
saddle; the other horses were drawn up in single rank; the starter
brandished his flag--and the curtain rose on such a race as has,
perhaps, never been equalled in the annals of the Derby.
The rival cracks were named as follows:----_Topsy Turvey_, _Poojah_,
_Brandy Pawnee_, _Tiffin Bell_, _Tripod_, _Cui Bono_, _British
Jurisprudence_ and _Roseate Smell_. The betting was even on the field.
_Poojah_ was a large tall horse with a nude tail, but excessively
nimble; _Tripod_, on the contrary, was a small cob of sluggish habits
and needing to be constantly pricked; _Tiffin Bell_ was a piebald of
goodly proportions; and _Roseate Smell_ was of same sex as _Milky Way_,
though more vixenish in character.
Not long after the start Mr Bhosh was chagrined to discover that he was
all behindhand, and he almost despaired of overtaking any of his
fore-runners. Moreover, he was already oppressed by painful soreness,
due to so constantly coming in contact with the saddle during his ride
from London--but "in for a penny, in for a pound of flesh," and he
plodded on, and soon had the good luck to recapture some of his lost
ground.
It was the old fabulous anecdote of the Hare and the Tortoise. First of
all, _Topsy Turvey_ was tripped up by a rabbit's hole; then _Roseate
Smell_ leaped the barrier and joined the spectators, while _Tripod_
sprained his offside ankle. Gradually Mr Bhosh passed _Brandy Pawnee_,
_Cui Bono_, and _British Jurisprudence_, until, on arriving at Tottenham
Court Corner, only _Tiffin Bell_ and _Poojah_ remained in the running.
_Tiffin Bell_ became so discouraged by the near approach of _Milky Way_
that he dwindled his pace to a paltry trot, so Mr Bhosh was easily
enabled to defeat him, after which by Cyclopean efforts he urged his
mare until she and _Poojah_ were cheek by jowl.
For some time it was the dingdong race between a hammer and tongs!
Still, as the quadrupeds ploughed their way on, _Poojah_ churlishly
refused to give _place aux dames_, and _Milky Way_ began to drop to the
rear. Seeing that she was utterly incompetent to accelerate her speed
and therefore in imminent danger of being defeated, Chunder Bindabun had
the happy inspiration to make an appeal to the best feelings of the
rival jockey, whose name was Juggins.
"Juggins!" he wheezed in an agonised whisper, "I am a poor native
Indian, totally unpractised in Derby riding. Show me some magnanimous
action, and allow _Milky Way_ to take first prize, Juggins!"
But Mr Juggins responded that he earnestly desired that _Poojah_ should
obtain said prize, and applied a rather severe whipsmack to his willing
horse.
"My mare is the favourite, Juggins!" pleaded Mr Bhosh. "By defeating her
you will land yourself in the bad odour of the _oi polloi_. Have you
considered that, Juggins?"
Juggins's only reply was to administer more whip-smacks, but Chunder
Bindabun persevered. "Consider my hard case, Juggins! If I am beaten, I
lose both a _placens uxor_ and the pot of money. If, on the other hand,
I come in first at the head of the winning pole I promise to share my
entire fortune with you!"
Upon this, the kind-hearted and venial equestrian relented, warmly
protesting that he would rather be a _proxime accessit_ and second
fiddle than deprive another human being of all his earthly felicity, and
accordingly he reined in his impetuous courser with such consummate
skill that _Milky Way_ forged ahead by the length of a nose.
Thus they galloped past the Grand Stand, and, as Mr Bhosh gazed upwards
and descried the elegant form of the Princess Petunia standing upon the
topmost roof, he was so exalted with jubilation that he elevated
himself in his stirrups; and waving his cap in a chivalrous salute,
cried out: "Hip-hip-hip! I am ramping in!"
"Then," I hear the reader exclaim, "it is all over, and _Milky Way_ is
victorious."
Please, my honble friend, do not be so premature! I have not _said_ that
the race was over. There are still some yards to the judge's bench, and
it is always on the racing cards that _Poojah_ may prove the winner
after all.
Such inquisitive curiosity shall be duly satisfied in the next chapter,
which is also the last.