Sporting Society Volume Ii Part 20

"Not yet," returned Bradon, "but they will be by-and-by. Old Mason has got them stowed away somewhere; but upon my soul I don't know where they are myself at present."

"Which shall you declare to win with?" asked the sly-looking little man continuing his interrogations.

"Oh, with Guardsman," said George.

"And your jocks?" put in another. "All the talent is engaged. A pity you are so heavy--why, you've grown immense. You will want a dray-horse to carry you soon."

"Think I have?" said George. "It's my coats, man. Every fellow looks large with a couple of top-coats on, and a huge-wrapper round his throat. I know all the talent is engaged. One of my lads will ride the gray."

"I say, Bradon," put in another, "I heard you weighed twelve stone five; is that a fact?"

"Yes," said George; "I put on sixteen pounds in less than two years--an idle life at home did for me."

"But, Bradon," persisted the sly-looking little man, "you say one of your lads is going to ride the gray. But Guardsman--_who is to ride him_?"

"Oh," said George, "who is to ride him?--why, I will tell you in one word, it's a fellow you all know pretty well--MYSELF."

Had a thunderbolt fallen amongst them they could not have been more astonished.

"What!" they one and all exclaimed, "you? Why you told us not an instant ago that you weighed twelve stone five."

"No, my friends, I did not. I said, in answer to a question, that I _had_ weighed twelve stone five. I told you I had put sixteen pounds on, but I did not tell you I had not taken it off. I walk ten stone ten now--Banting, my boys, Banting. And, listen to me, I shall win if I can, and I have a good chance; but, win or lose, this is my last appearance in public. I've grown immense, have I not, old fellow?"

addressing himself to the one who had made the remark. "I shall want a dray-horse soon, shall I not?"

"By G--," said the sly-looking little man, "I thought there was something up. The very best hand in England going to ride his own horse. I'll be off to back him."

The tall youth before alluded to turned deadly pale, but not a word did he utter as he walked away.

In less than five minutes it became known in the ring and the stands that George Bradon was to ride his own horse. The utmost consternation ensued and many tried to hedge off their bets--but little or nothing could be done.

In the meantime our friend was quietly getting himself ready in the dressing-room.

The time at last came, the horses were saddled, and cantered.

"Here comes Guardsman," cried the crowd, as the gallant horse came sweeping up the course in magnificent style, with the gray beside him.

"By heaven!" muttered a well-known betting-man, and one of the best judges in Europe, "a truly splendid horse--far better in appearance and style than anything here. Bar accidents, he will win in a canter, and if he does, I'm ruined."

The betting and other men were positively paralyzed as Bradon and his horse came sweeping by, and it was allowed on all hands that no such animal as Guardsman had been seen for years.

"There, my boys," said Lord Plunger, dashing into the ring, "there's a man and horse for you. If he does not do the trick to-day I shall be very much astonished; and if he does, we shall both land a handsome sum, which you will drop."

The anxious moment is at last come, the horses are in line--the old stud-groom, Tim Mason, stands close by, with wipers, sponge, and bottle in hand. There is a curious nervous twitching at the corners of his mouth, the lips are dry and parched, and two small red spots adorn each cheek.

Not so with our friend. He sits his n.o.ble animal with confidence, ease, and grace, and as cool as a cuc.u.mber. Spying out his faithful old servant, he said, "What do you think of him, Tim?"

"Why, sir," he called out, "he's the best horse as was ever foaled; and if he don't beat that lot"--pointing with extreme contempt towards the line of horses--"Tim Mason knows nothing about it, and is jolly well d----d."

The word is at last given, and at the first attempt the lot are off.

"They're off!" shouted the hoa.r.s.e voices of thousands, and streaming along were some thirty gallant animals striving for the pride of place--thousands, nay hundreds and hundreds of thousands, depending on the lucky animal that first caught the judge's eye.

The conspicuous colours of George Bradon--scarlet and white hoops--were in the extreme rear, but suddenly as they got into the gra.s.s land his gray took first place and made the pace a cracker.

"The gray in to pump the field," muttered the sly-looking little man to his neighbour.

"The fastest thing I have ever seen," said another. "By jingo, one, two, three down, and look, Bradon is taking quite a line of his own. By George, how well his horse jumps; it's a dead certainty."

"So I think," returned the other.

There is an awful tailing off now, the pace has told its tale; only eighteen or twenty are really in it. The dangerous brook and the double bank are pa.s.sed, and the gallant gray who has set the field has shot his bolt.

"Well done, Harry," cried George, as he pa.s.sed him. "Well done, pull him up."

The great water jump in front of the Grand Stand is approached again.

"Here they come!" roared the mult.i.tude. "Who's first? Scarlet and white hoops," cried the excited thousands--"scarlet and white over the water first for money!"

George knowing the danger of a lot of horses, which he thought would be down at this, resolved to lead over it. Dropping his hands a bit the gallant animal rushed to the front, a length or so, and there he was kept.

The water is approached, the excitement of the mult.i.tude is something fearful as they sway to and fro to catch a glimpse.

"Magnificent!" burst from thousands of throats, as Guardsman hopped over the formidable eighteen feet like a bird.

George turned slightly in his saddle to take stock. "All safe but three," he uttered; "well, that is more than I thought would get over.

Now, old man, I must take a pull at you. You have only done part of the journey. I can't afford to pump you yet."

"Guardsman has cut it," shouted a hundred voices as the gallant horse was pulled back.

"The cowardly brute!" bawled another.

"Don't you believe it," cried the sly-looking little man, in a shrill voice that was heard all over the place. "I'll take three to one in thous, and do it twice, that Guardsman wins, or is placed."

"Done," said the pale delicate youth; "I'm on for twice." And the pencils went to work.

There was but one opinion amongst the countless thousands that Guardsman was the best horse in the race, and that, bar accidents, he must win.

The field has become very select now; still what do remain in the chase go well.

The excitement is intense; men are gnawing their lips and nails; ladies are quivering with emotion and biting the tips of their delicate-coloured gloves.

Wild and staring eyes are everywhere. Men eagerly grasp each other by the arm with a wild convulsive clutch as the horses clear each obstacle. Some stand stony and immovable, without the slightest appearance of interest. Little is known of the fearful beatings of their hearts under that cold, calm exterior.

"Here they come!" said the crowd, as some eight or ten horses make the turn for home.

"Guardsman baked!" shouts the ring, as the horse is seen nearly last.

"The Irish horse wins for a thousand," shouts an over-excited speculator.

"Done," says the sly-looking little man, and again the metallics are at work.