Boy Woodburn Part 57

Joses strolled up to him with portentous brow.

"Turned you down!" he said. "You're not horseman enough for them, it seems."

The little man gathered himself. He was very grim, curling his lips inward and whistling between his teeth as though to relieve inward pressure.

"How long have you ridden for 'em?" asked the fat man.

"Twenty-five year," the other answered, with the quiet of one labouring under a great emotion.

The other rumbled out his ironical laughter.

"And now they chuck you," he said. "Too old at forty. What?"

The little man spat on the ground.

"Blast 'em," he said. "Blast you. Blast the lot. It's a b.l.o.o.d.y world."

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

The Lovers' Quarrel

Boy did not appear at dinner.

The midday meal, especially on Sunday, she generally skipped.

Old Mat, Ma, and Silver lunched together and in silence.

The old trainer was absorbed in himself, and there was no question that he found himself exceedingly good company. His face became pink and his eye wet with the excellence of the joke he was brewing in his deeps. He s...o...b..red over his food and spilt it. Mrs. Woodburn watched him with amused sympathy.

"You've been up to something you shouldn't, dad," she said. "I know you."

He held up a shaking hand in protest.

"Now don't you, Mar!" he said. "I been to church--that's all I done. Mr.

Haggard preach a booriffle sermon on the 'Oly Innocents. 'There's some is saints,' he says, and he looks full glare at me; 'and there's some as isn't.' And he looks at his missus. 'There's some as is where they ought to be Sundays,' and he looks full glare at me. 'And there's some as isn't.' And he stares at the empty seat aside o' me. Yes, my dear, you'll cop it on the crumpet to-morrow when he comes to see you, and you'll deserve it, too."

After lunch, as the old man left the room, he beckoned mysteriously to Silver, and toddled away down the pa.s.sage with hunched shoulders to his sanctum.

The young man followed him with amused eyes. He knew very well what was coming.

Once inside his office, Mat closed the door in his most secretive way.

"Only one thing for it," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "The gal must ride."

Silver stared out of the window.

"But will she?"

The old man messed with his papers.

"She mayn't for me," he mumbled. "She might for someone--to help him out of a hole. I'll try her anyway. If she will I'll put a thousand on myself."

An hour later Silver was smoking a cigarette in the darkness of the wainscoted dining room, when the door burst open.

Boy came in upon him swift and radiant. She was in her blue skirt and blouse again, and her hair was like a halo against the dark wainscoting.

The glory of the gallop was still upon her.

He rose to her, challenged and challenging.

She crossed the room to him, and stood with her hand on the mantelpiece.

She did not laugh, she did not even smile, but there was in her the deep and quiet ecstasy that causes the thorn to blossom in beauty after a winter of reserve. It seemed to him that she was swaying as a rose sways in a gale, yet anch.o.r.ed always to the earth in perfect self-possession.

As always, she came straight to the point.

"Do you want me to ride him in the National?" she asked.

"I don't mind," he answered nonchalantly.

"Have you backed him?"

"Not yet."

"Are you going to?"

"I might--if I can get a hundred thousand to a thousand about him."

Her gray eyes searched him. Not a corner of him but her questioning spirit ransacked it.

"How much money have you got left?"

"When all's squared? a few thousand, I believe."

She looked into the fire, one little foot poised on the fender. He was provoking her. She felt it.

"I could just about win on him," she said. "I think."

"I'm not so sure," he answered.

She became defiant in a flash.

"One thing," she said, "I'm sure n.o.body else could."

He followed up his advantage deliberately.