Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One. Fenn George Manville

for a canter all day, to the very perfection of hunters up to any weight – equine princes of the blood royal, that have in their youth snuffed the keen air of the Yorkshire wolds; mares with retrousse noses and the saucy look given by a dash of Irish blood. Racers, too, are there, whose satin skins, netted with veins, throb with the blue blood that has come down from some desert sire, who has been wont in fleet career to tear up the sand of Araby like a whirlwind, spurn it behind his hoofs, and yet, at the lightest touch of the bit, check the lithe play of his elastic limbs at the opening of some camel or goat-hair tent, where half a dozen swarthy children are ready to play with it, and crawl uninjured about its feet – the mother busily the while preparing the baken cakes and mares-milk draught for her Bedouin lord.

      First Encounters

      “Clean yer boots? Brush down, sir?”

      “Why can’t yer leave the gent alone? I spoke fust, sir.”

      “Here y’are, sir – out of the crowd, sir.”

      Sixpence to be earned, and a scuffle for it, with the result that Richard Trevor stood a little out of the stream of passengers, stoically permitting a gentleman in an old red-sleeved waistcoat to “ciss-s-s” at him, as he brushed him most carefully down with an old brush, even though he was not in the slightest degree dusty.

      “Now, look here, Dick, if I’m to go trotting about at your heels like a big dog, I shall bite at everybody who tries to rob you. I shan’t stand by and see you fleeced. Is there something in salt water that makes you sailors ready to part with your money to the first comer?”

      The speaker was Frank Pratt, as he drew his friend away towards one of the omnibuses running that day from Broxford Station to where a regular back and heart-breaking bit of country had been flagged over for a steeplechase course.

      “You shall do precisely as you like, Frank,” was the quiet reply.

      “Very good, then – I will. Now, look here, Dick; you have now, I suppose, a clear income of twelve thousand a year?”

      “Yes, somewhere about that.”

      “And you want to fool it all away?”

      “Not I.”

      “Well, there was a specimen. You gave that fellow a shilling for brushing your coat that was not dirty.”

      “Poor devil, yes! He tried to earn it honestly, and we don’t get such luxuries at sea.”

      “As honestly as Van earned forty sovs. of you after we left Tatt’s yesterday.”

      “Don’t understand you, Franky,” said Trevor, with a twinkle of the eye, as he allowed himself to be caught by a shoeblack, and placed a slightly soiled boot upon his stand.

      “Tut!” ejaculated Pratt. “There you go again. What a fellow you are, Dick! What I meant was that horse of his. You gave him a cheque for a hundred for it.”

      “Yes, I did, Franky.”

      “He gave sixty for it last week.”

      Trevor winced slightly, and said quietly —

      “Dealer’s profit; and he understands horses. Try another cigar, Frank.”

      Pratt took another cigar, lit it, and said, quietly —

      “Now look here, Dick, old fellow, I’m afraid I’m going to be a great nuisance to you. You’re so easy-going, that with this money of yours – to use your sea-going terms – you’ll be all amongst the sharks; every one will be making a set at you. ’Pon my soul, I’ve been miserable ever since I won that four pound ten. The best thing we can do is to see one another seldom, for if I stay with you I shall always be boring you about some foolish bit of extravagance, and getting into hot water with the friends who take a fancy to you.”

      “My dear Frank,” said Trevor, smoking away in the most unruffled fashion, “you will oblige me very much by letting that be the clearing-up shower as far as talk of leaving me is concerned. It is quite right. Here have I been to sea, middy and man, for twelve years; and now I come back to England a great helpless baby of a fellow, game for everybody. You think I’m a fool. Well, I am not over-wise; but my first act ashore here was the looking-up of a tried old schoolfellow, whose purse I’ve often shared, and who never once left me in the lurch – and,” he added, slowly and meaningly, “who never will leave me in the lurch. Am I right?”

      Frank Pratt turned one sharp, quick flash upon the speaker, and that was enough.

      “Thanky, sir,” cried the shoeblack, spinning up the sixpence he had received.

      The friends turned towards one of the omnibuses about to make a start for the course.

      “Beg parding, sir,” said a voice, “just a speck left on your coat, sir!” And the man who had received the shilling for the brushing began to “ciss” once more.

      “That’ll do, sir! That’s the next ’bus, sir! Good luck to you for a real gent, sir,” he added; and then in a whisper, “Back White Lassie!”

      Trevor turned sharply round, just time enough to encounter a most knowing wink, and the man was gone.

      “Dick, I’m afraid that’s a trap,” said Pratt, gazing after the man. “Better not bet at all; but if you do, I don’t think I should go by what that fellow says. Well, come along. Eh? what?”

      “Consequential-looking old chap in that barouche, I said;” and Trevor pointed to where a carriage had drawn up by the railway hotel, the owner having posted down from town – “regular type of the old English gentleman.”

      “Now, if we are to get on together, Dick,” said Pratt, plaintively, “don’t try to humbug me in that way. Don’t hoist false colours.”

      “Humbug you? – false colours?”

      “Yes, humbug me. Now, on your oath, didn’t you think more of the two ladies in the barouche than of the old gentleman?”

      “Without being on my oath – yes, I did; for I haven’t seen a pretty girl for three years. Get up first.”

      “After you,” was the response.

      And directly after the friends were mounted on the knifeboard of a great three-horse omnibus, brought down expressly for the occasion.

      The vehicle was soon loaded in a way that put its springs to the test, for the exact licenced number was not studied upon that day. There was a fair sprinkling of gentlemen, quiet, businesslike professionals, and decent tradesmen with a taste for sport; but the railway company having run cheap special trains, London had sent forth a few representative batches of the fancy, in the shape of canine-featured gentlemen “got up” expressly for the occasion, with light trousers, spotted neckerchiefs, velvet coats, and a sign in the breast of their shirt or tie in the shape of a horseshoe pin. It is impossible to sit in such company without wondering whether the closely cropped hair was cut at the expense of the country; and when a quiet, neutral-looking man, sitting amongst them, accidentally clicks something in his pocket, you may know all the time that it is the lid of a tobacco-box, or a few halfpence, but you are certain to think of handcuffs.

      You cannot pick your companions on an omnibus bound from a little country station to the scene of a steeplechase, and Richard Trevor and his friend soon found that they were in luck; for in addition to the regular racing attendants, London had sent down a pleasant assortment of those sporting gentlemen who used to hang about London Bridge Station on the morning when an event was to “come off,” police permitting, some forty miles down the line.

      In the hurry of climbing up, Pratt had not noticed the occupants of the vehicle but as soon as they had taken their seats he was for descending again, and he turned to whisper his wishes to his friend.

      “All comes of being in such a plaguy hurry, Frank. Always take soundings before you come to an anchor. Never mind now, though the onions are far from agreeable.”

      The words had hardly left his lips, when a man on his left turned sharply, and asked why he hadn’t ordered his “kerridge,” subsiding afterwards into a growl, in which the word