Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

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?”