^•^^•^■^ /I^Hiaiem 
 
 '^i» 
 
'MAD' LORRIMER 
 
 BY 
 
 FINCH MASON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'FRANK MAITLAND's LUCK,' 'THE TAME FOX,' 
 
 'ADVENTURES OF PROFESSOR MUDDLE,' 
 
 ETC., ETC, 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ANTHONY TREHERNE & CO., LIMITED 
 
 3 AGAR STREET 
 
 CHARING CROSS 
 
 1 90 1 
 
LEAR J. DREW 
 
 AS KEEN A SPORTSMAN AND GOOD AN ' ALL-ROUND ' MAN (l QUITE 
 
 FORGET WHAT HE TOLD ME HE MEASURES ROUND THE — 
 
 ER — chest) AS ONE WOULD WISH TO MEET, THESE 
 
 FRIVOLOUS PAGES ARE DEDICATED, WITHOUT 
 
 ANY PERMISSION AT ALL, BY HIS FRIEND 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 'Mad' Lorrimer 
 
 How I WENT Nap and got It 
 
 So Highly Respectable 
 
 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 The Banker's Mare . 
 
 'My Awful Ma' 
 
 Standing in with the Stable 
 
 An Imperial Yeoman 
 Getting at the Curate 
 Tipping Extraordinary 
 Stolen Goods . 
 The Fortune Tellers 
 The Butt of the Family 
 Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 
 Mistaken Identity . 
 The Voice of the Charmer 
 
 V 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 17 
 
 35 
 57 
 81 
 
 99 
 113 
 125 
 137 
 155 
 167 
 
 179 
 
 193 
 207 
 219 
 
 ^2>3 
 
NOTE 
 
 The majority of these stories have appeared at 
 various times in the Sporting and Dramatic 
 News and Tillotson's Newspaper, to the courtesy 
 of whose proprietors the Author is indebted for 
 permission to republish them in collected form. 
 
3 Agar Street, 
 
 Charing Cross, W.C. 
 
 Messrs. Anthony Treherne & Co., Ltd., present their 
 compliments to the Editor, and be^ to^closf an j^^vance 
 
 copy of.MoJi.lom.mv. 
 
 for review. 
 
 Price 
 
 ea to ehclosf an tadvance 
 
 Mio 
 
 'MAD' LORRIMER 
 
 I 
 
 They called him ' Mad ' Lorrimer at Eton — 
 not because he was at all deficient as 
 regards brain power : on the contrary, his 
 mental capacity in all probability would 
 have compared favourably with that of a 
 good many of his fellows. 
 
 No : it was simply that he was always 
 committing extravagances of the wildest 
 description. 
 
 You had only to ' dare ' Lorrimer to per- 
 form some out-of-the-way feat that the 
 most reckless of schoolboys would think 
 twice about, and the deed might at once be 
 looked upon as done. I really believe if any 
 juvenile sportsman had offered to make a bet 
 with him of half a crown that he, Lorrimer, 
 would not knock off the Provost of Eton's 
 college cap, he would have closed with him 
 on the spot, and won his money to boot. 
 
 A 
 
2 ' Mad ' Lorrimer 
 
 And so they dubbed him ' Mad,' and ' Mad ' 
 Lorrimer he remained to the day of his 
 death. 
 
 His relations, more especially his younger 
 brother, I believe really thought he was 
 mad, in the literal sense of the word, and 
 would very much have liked, if they could have 
 seen their way to do so to lock him up — or, 
 as they benevolently expressed it, put poor 
 dear Edward 'away,' when, on succeeding 
 to the family property on the death of his 
 father, he proceeded to play ducks and 
 drakes with it in a style peculiarly his own. 
 Well might the aforesaid brother, now a 
 clergyman and holder of the family living, 
 groan in spirit, when, shortly after the 
 Derby, it began to be rumoured that one 
 of the hardest hit over the downfall of the 
 favourite was the hare-brained young squire, 
 a rumour that was reduced to a certainty 
 shortly afterwards by the announcement of 
 a big fall of timber on the estate. 
 
 ' There is only one enormity left now for 
 Ned to commit,' he declared ; and that was 
 an undesirable marriage. 
 
 Alas I the parson proved himself for once 
 a prophet in his own country, for hardly 
 had the excitement in the county following 
 
^ Mad ' Lorrimer 3 
 
 the heavy losses on the Derby and the 
 subsequent sale of timber subsided, when it 
 was announced that ' Mad ' Lorrimer had 
 put a finishing touch to his previous follies 
 by leading to the altar the notorious Belle 
 Carrington, a pretty horsebreaker, who had 
 captivated him by the skill with which she 
 rode an unmanageable horse of his in the 
 ring at the great horse show annually held 
 at the Aorricultural Hall at Islinorton. 
 
 Even his best and staunchest friends 
 could not but admit that if this last escapade 
 did not spell Ruin with a capital R, nothing 
 did. The wildest stories as to his wife's 
 character and reputation were circulated, 
 and it was unanimously agreed that if Ned 
 did have the bad taste to bring her down 
 to Sobersideshire, both he and she would 
 be rigidly excluded from the county society. 
 This coming to Ned's ears, he at once 
 changed all his plans — as anyone knowing 
 the perverse nature of the man might have 
 expected — and instead of betaking himself 
 to the French chateau he had in his mind's 
 eye, he forthwith ordered Alton Court to 
 be prepared without delay for the reception 
 of himself and bride. 
 
 His brother, the rector, called as in duty 
 
4 * Mad ' Lorrimer 
 
 bound, and was promptly escorted by a very 
 off-hand sort of butler to the drawing-room, 
 thence through the window to the lawn 
 beyond, where, in a hammock swung under 
 a huge lime tree, smoking a cigarette and 
 reading The Pink Un with much apparent 
 relish, reclined the graceful person of his 
 new sister-in-law. 
 
 ' You're brother Charles, I can see by 
 your white choker ! ' was her free-and-easy 
 greeting to her clerical visitor, as she 
 languidly extended to him a white hand 
 smothered with valuable rings. 
 
 * And now, Charlie — I hate Charles ; I 
 know lots of 'em, and I call 'em all Charlie 
 — what'll you have ? Champagne cup } 
 Brandy and soda ? Or if you've got any 
 particular " pison " of your own, give it a 
 name ! ' 
 
 ' Any particular poison of my own ! ' 
 gasped the Reverend Charles. ' Er — er 
 — no, thank you ! ' 
 
 Then she proceeded to force the conversa- 
 tion. Had he seen The Pink Un ? There 
 was a par. about herself in it. There usually 
 was. The Tale Pitcher and Nathaniel 
 Gubbins were both pals of hers, especially 
 Gub. Had he read the latter's book, 
 
* Mad ' Lorrimer 5 
 
 Cakes and Ale ? Then he should. She 
 had given him half the recipes in it. Nearly- 
 all those for cups were hers. She had 
 invented a cup of her own, too, and was 
 very angry with Gub, for not putting it in 
 his book. ' Belle's Blister,' she called it. 
 And would he like the recipe for it ? She 
 would write it out for him with all the 
 pleasure in life, if he would. 
 
 ' She's an awful woman, Clara,' said the 
 rector as, his visit at an end, he joined his 
 wife at her five-o'clock tea table. ' Pretty, 
 no doubt, but an awful, terrible woman ! ' 
 and the good man shuddered at the very 
 recollection of her. He shuddered again 
 when just as he was sitting down to dinner a 
 servant arrived from the Court with a note 
 from its chatelaine. 
 
 It was the recipe for ' Belle's Blister.' 
 
 Worse was yet to come. The Dean of 
 Dulchester, an uncle of his wife's, took it 
 into his head to pay the Rectory a flying 
 visit about this period to see how the young 
 couple were getting on, and being out for 
 a country walk one day, in company with his 
 host, who should ride up but Mrs Ned. 
 
 ' By Jove ! ' she was glad to see him ! 
 She was positively dying for a cigar, and 
 
6 * Mad ' Lorrimer 
 
 had stupidly forgotten to bring her fusee 
 box out with her. 
 
 * Had he got a Hght about him ? No ? ' 
 
 ' Then pei'haps your friend ivitk the funny 
 hat has ! ' 
 
 This was bad enough in all conscience, 
 but when his sister-in-law, piqued no doubt 
 at being done out of her smoke, proceeded 
 to chaff the venerable dean, first about his 
 hat, and then his gaiters, finishing up by 
 telling him that if he'd only go to one of the 
 Covent Garden fancy dress balls in that ' get 
 up,' she was certain he would gain a prize, 
 the Reverend Charles felt more like break- 
 inpf the sixth commandment than ever he 
 had done in his life. 
 
 As for the dean, his countenance, always 
 of a rubicund hue, assumed so apoplectic 
 an appearance that his host felt quite re- 
 lieved when he had landed him safely at the 
 Rectory. 
 
 This adventure led to a rupture between 
 the parson and his elder brother, the former 
 feeling that he owed it to himself to re- 
 monstrate with Ned with regard to his wife's 
 unseemly conduct to the distinguished 
 ornament of the Church, his late visitor, 
 the result being that when the brothers 
 
* Mad ' Lorrimer 7 
 
 parted company, a breach had been 
 established between the families at the 
 Court and the Rectory, which had every 
 appearance of requiring a good deal of 
 healing^. 
 
 II 
 
 ' Mad ' Lorrimer had come to the end of his 
 tether. Everybody said so, and for once in 
 a way everybody was right. 
 
 He had been married now just three 
 years, and considering the joint extravagance 
 of his wife and himself — for it is very certain 
 that in this respect there was not a pin to 
 choose between the pair of them — it was a 
 matter of surprise to many that the crash 
 was averted so long^ as it was. 
 
 There is an old saying, and a very true 
 one, that when Poverty enters the door. 
 Love is very apt to fly out of the window, 
 and this is precisely what happened in the 
 case of Mr and Mrs Edward Lorrimer. 
 
 So long as the money lasted, and her 
 husband was in a position to gratify every 
 whim and extravagance of that capricious 
 lady, his wife, the latter treated him with a 
 certain amount of affection ; though, as she 
 
8 * Mad ' Lorrimer 
 
 was candid enough to avow, she was never 
 one of your * gushing ' sort. 
 
 But now, when things had come to a full 
 stop at the Court, no ready money to spend, 
 their credit gone entirely, and the household 
 as often as not dependent on Ned's gun for 
 a dinner, she showed herself in her true 
 colours, and hey, presto ! a slap of the 
 harlequin's magic wand, and in place of a 
 merry, light - hearted woman appeared a 
 shrill-voiced virago of the most pronounced 
 
 type. 
 
 Whatever the state of his wife's feelings 
 towards him, there was no doubt that her 
 husband was passionately fond of her, and 
 the line of treatment she adopted to him in 
 his adversity almost broke his heart. 
 
 He seemed to be positively afraid of her, 
 and whenever he could do so without her 
 knowledge, would sneak off furtively to the 
 Rectory, and in the company of his brother 
 and his wife and children endeavour to forget 
 his troubles for the time being. Needless to 
 say, the establishment at the Court had been 
 cut down to the lowest possible proportions. 
 Mons. Mirabeau, the admirable chef; the 
 free-and-easy butler (generally supposed to 
 be a relative of Mrs Ned's); his lieutenants, 
 
' Mad ' Lorrimer 9 
 
 the giant footmen ; Mr Tilbury, the swell 
 stud groom — all had gone their different 
 ways. 
 
 The stables were occupied by four hunters 
 and a pony, and were looked after by the 
 lad who hitherto had cleaned the boots and 
 knives and made himself generally useful to 
 the servants. 
 
 Anybody but ' Mad ' Lorrimer would have 
 let the place, of course ; but as that gentle- 
 man was quite unlike anybody else, and, 
 moreover, a trifle more obstinate than a mule, 
 he insisted on hanging on, in spite of the 
 counsel of his brother and other friends. 
 
 ' I never was beat yet and I don't intend 
 to be now,' was his invariable reply. 
 
 In this resolve, for once in a way, he was 
 backed up by his wife, notwithstanding that 
 it was quite against her own interests, as she 
 was perfectly well aware. 
 
 The fact was that she had never forgiven 
 the county for snubbing her as they had, and 
 she preferred to 'die game,' as she called it, 
 even thouQ^h it were a case of ' cuttingr off her 
 nose to spite her face.' 
 
 So this happy pair went on day after day 
 in the old sweet way, getting as much hunting 
 as they could out of the four hunters left to 
 
lo 'Mad' Lorrimer 
 
 them ; and wrangling and quarrelling, and, I 
 fear, drinking when they got home. At last 
 one night thinos came to a climax. 
 
 Belle had lived on rabbits and nothing else 
 for a whole week, and her wrath fairly boiled 
 over. 
 
 'You're a cur and a coward,' she yelled. 
 ' What do you mean by bringing me to this, 
 you miserable pauper, you ? Once for all, 
 Ned, I've had enough of it. I shall hunt to- 
 morrow ; and the day after, up I go to 
 London to do what I can for myself. You've 
 not settled a farthing on me, and you know 
 it, for you told me so only the other day, 
 and why should I study you any longer ? 
 Smithers the dealer will take me on again in 
 a moment, if I ask him, and that is what I 
 shall do. What is more, I shall do my best 
 to persuade him to send me down here with 
 some horses on sale, and I'll amuse myself 
 with riding the heads off some of these 
 beastly women who have treated me like so 
 much dirt since I married you.' 
 
 ' Very well. Belle,' replied Ned, calmly, 
 as he lighted a flat candle, * I won't say 
 nay ; I have no right to under the circum- 
 stances. We'll have one more day's hunting 
 together, and then — we'll part. Good-night, 
 
' Mad ' Lorrimer 1 1 
 
 old girl.' And with that, he took up his 
 flat candlestick and went off to bed. 
 
 Belle was fairly staggered by his coolness. 
 She had expected, nay, had hoped for, if the 
 truth were known, an outburst of wrath on 
 his part. For the first time in her married 
 life she found herself not only respecting her 
 husband, but actually in love with him. 
 
 ' Wh — wh — what a good plu — u — eked 
 one he is ! ' she cried with an outburst of 
 tears as soon as she was alone in her own 
 room. And this was a great compliment, 
 coming from Belle. 
 
 The hounds met next morning at the 
 house of a wealthy man in the neighbour- 
 hood, who entertained the field at breakfast, 
 and knowing they would not be welcome 
 guests, Ned and his wife were purposely 
 late — in fact, never went near the meet 
 at all. 
 
 ' Never mind. Belle,' said her husband, 
 as carriage after carriage passed them, their 
 female occupants all giving a disdainful turn 
 of their heads at the couple riding leisurely 
 along on the turf at the side of the road — a 
 look that was returned with interest, you 
 may be sure. 
 
1 2 * Mad ' Lorrimer 
 
 ' Never mind, Belle, they'll get the best 
 of us at the champagne, but I'll be hanged 
 if they will be when hounds get to work ! ' 
 
 When the wine-flushed company arrived 
 at Stroud Wood, the covert they were to 
 draw first, there were those two ' dreadful 
 people' waiting to meet them, 
 
 ' Poor mad fool ! ' said the men (meaning 
 Ned). ' Wretch ! ' said the women (meaning 
 Belle). There was no time for more gossip, 
 for hardly were the hounds in covert before a 
 whimper, gradually merging into a chorus 
 of the whole pack, was heard, followed by a 
 holloa from the far corner, to say that the 
 fox had been viewed away. Next a tre- 
 mendous rush of cavalry, both through and 
 round the wood, only to find that ' Mad ' 
 Lorrimer and his wife had got the start of 
 them all. 
 
 Was it accident that led poor ' Mad ' 
 Lorrimer to meet his death by riding into 
 that chalk quarry ? 
 
 His friends said it was. The insurance 
 companies declared it wasn't. Anyhow, they 
 foueht it out with his widow, who won the 
 day, and fifty thousand pounds into the 
 bargain. 
 
* Mad ' Lorrimer 1 3 
 
 Belle declared after the trial that she 
 would willingly have forfeited the whole if 
 they could only bring poor Ned — her Ned 
 — to life again. 
 
 And knowing as I do how she has com- 
 ported herself since her husband's death, and 
 the use she has made of his money, I believe 
 her. 
 
How I went Nap and got It 
 
HOW I WENT NAP AND GOT IT 
 
 On a certain Derby Day — there is no 
 necessity to specify which particular one — 
 it would have been hard to find among the 
 crowd assembled in Epsom's famous paddock 
 half an hour or so before the great race, all 
 agog for a glimpse of the equine heroes of 
 the hour, a more excited or anxious spec- 
 tator than my humble self. 
 
 The reason for this was not far to seek, 
 and was, I venture to think, pardonable 
 under the circumstances. After twenty-two 
 attempts in as many years, I had at last 
 succeeded in drawing the first favourite of 
 the Derby in the lottery at my club. Sell 
 my chance ? Not I ! Nor half of it, or 
 even a quarter! 
 
 Nay ; I even increased my annual invest- 
 ment of five pounds on whatever took my 
 fancy for the blue riband to ten on this 
 occasion, so confident was I in the ultimate 
 B 17 
 
1 8 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 triumph of ' my horse,' as I now persistently 
 called him. 
 
 Six times had I rushed in frantic haste 
 from one end of the spacious paddock to the 
 other in quest of my idol, each occasion on 
 a fool's errand. ' Will he never come ? ' I 
 asked myself, as, taking off my hat, I 
 mopped my fevered brow — I believe that 
 is the proper expression. 
 
 And then a dreadful thought occurred to 
 me. 
 
 'Has anything happened to him? Has 
 he been "got at" in some way?' 
 
 Jorkins, last night in the smoking-room 
 at the club, I remembered, had expressed 
 his opinion to me in confidence that the 
 horse was what he called a ' stiff 'un ' ; but 
 seeing that five minutes afterwards he bid 
 me a ' pony ' for my share in the sweep, on 
 the 'off chance,' as he said, I had come to 
 the conclusion that his offer was not quite 
 the disinterested one he would have had me 
 believe, and accordingly declined it with 
 thanks. What if Jorkins was right, after 
 all? 
 
 A cold perspiration broke out all over me 
 at the bare thought. At that moment a 
 solitary horse, swaddled to the eyes in blue 
 
How I went Nap and got It 19 
 
 and yellow clothing, with the usual boy on 
 his back and another at his head, entered 
 the paddock by the bridle gate leading 
 from the Durdans. 
 
 'Here comes the favourite!' exclaimed 
 someone. 
 
 That was quite enough for me. Hastily 
 cramming my hat on my head once more, 
 I was just off again on another wild-goose 
 expedition, when I felt a restraining hand 
 upon my arm, whilst a soft voice murmured 
 in my ear, ' Don't hurry, Mr Mainchance ; 
 that ain't the favourite for the Derby, or 
 anything like him.' 
 
 The next instant I was shaking by the 
 hand the owner of the voice, a fresh- 
 coloured, good-looking, powerfully-built man 
 of middle age, whom, from his general 
 appearance and 'get up,' I should certainly 
 have taken for a country squire up for the 
 Derby week ; nay, very likely the actual 
 owner of one of the favourites, had I 
 not known him for Inspector Barber, of 
 Scotland Yard, and one of the most astute 
 detectives of the day. For anyone de- 
 sirous of making a study of his fellow- 
 creatures, more especially the very varied 
 assortment of them usually to be found on 
 
20 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 Epsom Downs on the Derby Day, a better 
 man at your elbow in the double capacity of 
 friend and mentor than Inspector Barber it 
 would, indeed, have been difficult to find ; 
 for there wasn't a soul present apparently, 
 from the highest to the lowest, with whose 
 family history, in addition to his identity, 
 he did not appear perfectly familiar. The 
 curious part of it was that, with very few 
 exceptions, none of them seemed to know 
 him. 
 
 My mention of this fact elicited the dry 
 remark, accompanied with a scarcely per- 
 ceptible twinkle of those roving grey eyes 
 of his, ' That's as it should be.' 
 
 One of the exceptions, a tall, wiry-looking 
 well-set-up man, with a clean-shaven face, 
 got up to perfection, from the glossy hat on 
 his head, to the white spats which covered 
 his well-fitting, highly - varnished patent 
 leather boots, now approached us. 
 
 ' Have a good look at this cove,' whispered 
 the detective, as he came up. 
 
 A friendly greeting between the pair, and 
 the well-dressed one passed on. 
 
 ' Now what should you say he is when he's 
 at home?' inquired Inspector Barber. 
 
 • Well,' I said, ' that is a difficult 
 
How I went Nap and got It 21 
 
 question to reply to ; though, if I did hazard 
 a guess, it would be that your friend is an 
 actor. There is one thing, however, that 
 struck me about him,' I added, ' and that 
 was his extraordinary likeness to — ' 
 
 'The Great Napoleon,' struck in my 
 friend, finishing the sentence for me. 
 
 ' Now, how the devil did you guess that ? ' 
 I exclaimed in astonishment. 
 
 * I know you to be an observant man,' 
 replied the detective, ' and I felt certain you 
 would "spot "the resemblance the moment 
 you set eyes on him, so I did not hesitate to 
 take the words out of your mouth. I meant 
 it as a compliment, I can assure you,' he 
 added apologetically. 
 
 ' And you are quite right,' he went on ; 
 ' his likeness to " Le petit Caporal " is most 
 remarkable ; and you are correct, in a 
 manner, in your other conjecture, for though 
 not actually in ^/le profession, Jim Stanton, 
 a/ias Napoleon, can not only " dress " the 
 part of any character he chooses to represent 
 on the stage of life, but is well capable of 
 acting it into the bargain, and that is more 
 than some of them can do,' he added with a 
 laugh. 
 
 'And what is Mr James Stanton, a/ias 
 
2 2 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 Napoleon, by profession, pray ? ' I inquired, 
 much interested, and following that gentle- 
 man's retreating figure, now some distance 
 off, as I spoke. 
 
 ' A thief, and the cleverest — the very 
 cleverest of the whole lot,' was the unex- 
 pected reply. 
 
 Deeply interested, I was just about to ask 
 for further details, when a sudden rush to 
 the bottom of the paddock, and an exclama- 
 tion from the detective of, ' Ah, here he is at 
 last ! ' caused me to forget for the moment 
 everything but the matter in hand, and to 
 make hasty tracks in the same direction, 
 followed, as I imagined, by my friend. 
 
 You can lose anyone in a second in a 
 crowd, whether at Epsom or anywhere else ; 
 and so it was in this case, for after feasting 
 my eyes on the crack, and turning round to 
 ask my companion what he thought of him, 
 the inevitable happened : Inspector Barber 
 had vanished from my side, and was nowhere 
 to be seen. 
 
 As the favourite duly won, and I was, in 
 consequence, a considerable gainer thereby, 
 it was not very likely that the Derby Day of 
 1 8 — would soon be obliterated from my 
 memory. It was constantly in my thoughts. 
 
How 1 went Nap and got It 23 
 
 indeed. Neither were Inspector Barber nor 
 his friend ' Napoleon the Great ' forgotten. 
 The latter I had never come across since our 
 chance meeting in the paddock at Epsom, 
 and I often wondered what he was doing. 
 Not 'time' it was to be hoped. 
 
 I little guessed how soon I was destined 
 to renew my acquaintance with both, and 
 under what circumstances. It was the 
 Monday in Goodwood week, and leaving my 
 chambers in the Temple about three o'clock, 
 I started leisurely down the crowded Strand 
 bound westward. At Wellington Street I 
 found myself brought to a standstill owing to 
 the unceasing flow of cabs and carriages 
 going to and from Waterloo Station ; and, 
 not being in a hurry, I stood for some 
 minutes at the corner amusing myself with 
 watching their occupants, debating in my 
 mind at the same time whether I would not 
 run down to Goodwood on my own account 
 one day. 
 
 The weather was glorious, and the racing 
 promised to be unusually interesting — and, 
 yes, I thought I would. Perhaps I should 
 meet Inspector Barber and his friend. The 
 idea was pleasant to me, and I would hie me 
 to the club at once, get hold of a friend, wire 
 
24 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 to Southsea or Brighton for rooms, and start 
 that very night. 
 
 ' Hi ! do you want to commit sooicide, you 
 blankety blank, this that and the other ? ' 
 yelled an irate hansom cabman, pulling his 
 horse nearly on to his haunches, as, dis- 
 regarding the warning of a friendly police- 
 man, I made a dash for the other side at 
 the risk of my life. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances I should 
 have passed on, but really this particular 
 cabman was so excessively florid in his 
 language that I halted, and out with my 
 note-book for the purpose of jotting down his 
 number therein. 
 
 To be nearly killed was bad enough, but 
 to be abused into the bargain — oh, it was 
 beyond a joke! and down went the number. 
 Having done with the cabman, who, seeing 
 what I was at, and being blocked into the 
 bargain, was by this time foaming at the 
 mouth, I glanced at his fare to see what he 
 or she, as the case might be, thought of the 
 altercation. 
 
 A solitary footman, and a very smart one 
 into the bargain — floured head, cockade in 
 his hat, immaculate white tie and shirt front 
 — a nobleman's servant evidently. 
 
How I went Nap and got It 25 
 
 A good-looking fellow, too, with well-cut 
 features, which somehow were familiar to me. 
 He turned his face for a second, and I caught 
 sight of it en profile. I knew him directly. 
 
 By the living Jingo, it was Inspector 
 Barber's friend, Napoleon the Great, and 
 no other ! 
 
 Napoleon, in the disguise of a footman, 
 with what looked uncommonly like a lady's 
 dressing-case on the seat beside him. 
 
 I don't know what possessed me, I am 
 sure, for I am not particularly inquisitive that 
 I know of, and certainly had no ambition to 
 step into the shoes of the late lamented Mr 
 Sherlock Holmes, but this is certain ; I 
 made up my mind on the spot to see this 
 little affair out at all hazards, and, with that 
 purpose, hurriedly hailed a passing hansom 
 cab, bidding the driver as I jumped in to 
 follow, and on no account to lose sight of the 
 cab just in front of him drawn by a chestnut 
 horse. 
 
 ' Follow at moderate distance,' said I, 
 through the little trap, ' and if they pull up, 
 drive past unconcernedly, making a note of 
 the house as you do so, and,' I added, 'a 
 sovereign, mind, at the end of the journey, if 
 you do as I tell you.' 
 
26 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 Cabby grinned expressively as he slammed 
 down the trap door, whilst I proceeded to 
 light a cigar and wait for further develop- 
 ments. 
 
 Judging by the free and very unnecessary 
 use he made of his whip, Napoleon's cabman 
 had not recovered from his wordy war with 
 myself, and he kept cutting in and out 
 amongst the cabs and 'buses in such a 
 reckless, at the same time masterful manner, 
 that when Bond Street was reached, I was 
 in dread every moment that he would give 
 us the slip. 
 
 Fortunately my own charioteer was as 
 smart as he was, and, stimulated no doubt 
 by the promised reward, we never once lost 
 sight of our man, until he pulled up in front 
 of a small house in Maida Vale, into which 
 he entered, dressing-case in hand — the door 
 opening, I noticed, from the inside, before 
 he had time to reach it, a circumstance 
 which immediately conveyed the impression 
 on my mind that he was expected. 
 
 * Drive slowly on until I hold up my 
 stick,' I told Jehu through the trap, 'and 
 then turn round and go back the way we 
 came.' 
 
 A few hundred yards, and then my im- 
 
How 1 went Nap and got It 27 
 
 patience got the upper hand of me, and I 
 gave the signal to him. 
 
 * Back to the Strand, sir ? ' inquired cabby 
 through the Httle trap door ; and I shall 
 never fororet as lone as I live his look of 
 amazement when he received in reply : 
 * Scotland Yard^ as hard as ever yo7i can 
 go.r 
 
 'Yes; Inspector Barber was in the Yard, 
 but he was very busy just at that particular 
 moment. Was it a matter of importance 
 I wished to see him about ? ' 
 
 'Most important,' I replied. 
 
 ' Then come this way, sir,' said the police 
 officer addressed, marching me off without 
 further parley. 
 
 Inspector Barber was holding solemn 
 conclave with two of his brethren of much 
 the same pattern as himself as I entered 
 his sanctum, and, judging by the expression 
 of their faces, it was a matter of no small 
 consequence they were discussing. Nay, 
 my friend Barber, usually so pleased to see 
 me, for once in a way seemed rather put 
 out than not by the interruption caused by 
 my sudden descent upon him. 
 
 • Hallo ! ' he exclaimed, as he held out his 
 
2 8 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 hand. ' Why, how is it you are not at 
 Goodwood ? ' 
 
 ' How is it you are not there, if it comes 
 to that ? ' I asked in my turn, as I recipro- 
 cated his shake of the hand. 
 
 ' Well, as a matter of fact, I was just off 
 — portmanteau packed, and all ready for a 
 start, when intelligence reached the Yard of 
 a daring robbery at Waterloo Station this 
 very afternoon — the Duchess of Dorking's 
 dressing-case, containing some fifteen 
 thousand pounds' worth of jewellery stolen 
 from the platform, right under the very 
 noses of her turnip-headed servants. 
 
 * The Duchess, who was actually in the 
 train just about to start for Chichester en 
 route for Goodwood, where she was to make 
 one of the house party to meet the Prince, 
 the moment she heard of her loss, jumped 
 out of the carriage, and, like the sensible 
 woman she is, hailed the nearest hansom, 
 and, along with her maid, drove straight 
 here : the maid in hysterics, and her Grace 
 as cool as a cucumber. Never turned a hair, 
 bless you, as she gave me, as well as she 
 could, a list of her trinkets, etc. She nearly 
 broke down, though, when she came to a 
 certain sapphire and diamond necklace, and 
 
How I went Nap and got It 29 
 
 if she hadn't been a thoroughbred one from 
 the crown of her head to the soles of her 
 feet, she would have. 
 
 * " If I could only get that back, Mr 
 Barber," she said, " I shouldn't care so very 
 much about the rest. It was a wedding 
 present from my father, and I value it — 
 well, I value it more than I can tell you." 
 
 * Now, if the Duchess had been one of 
 your hairy-heeled ones, she'd have laid out 
 a quarter of an hour in extolling the virtues 
 of the parent in question, and another, on her 
 own obedience to the fifth commandment ; 
 but being, as I say, as thoroughbred as 
 Eclipse, a trembling of the voice, and that 
 hardly discernible, was the only sign she 
 made. 
 
 ' Damme ! ' wound up my friend, with 
 a bang of his fist on the table, * I do like 
 a bit of blood.' 
 
 ' And how nice she was about the re- 
 ward ! ' struck in one of the other detectives. 
 * None of your " I'll give this or that," but 
 *' Do you think two thousand will be enough ? 
 if not, I shall be most happy to say three. 
 In short," says her Grace, " I will leave it 
 entirely to you." ' 
 
 ' And it's voorth three, too,' chimed in a 
 
30 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 third, adding, ' I only wish we could lay our 
 hands upon the swag, and the cove that 
 copped it.' 
 
 It was my turn now. ' Gentlemen,' I 
 exclaimed, addressing the trio collectively, ' I 
 am proud to be in a position — at least, I have 
 very good reason to believe so — to gratify 
 your wishes. The swag is at the present 
 moment — or, at all events, was — less than an 
 hour ago, at 324 Maida Vale. "The cove 
 that copped it " — I quote my honourable 
 friend (if he will allow me to call him so) on 
 my right — is — ' 
 
 ' The Flying Dutchman,' exclaimed one 
 officer. 
 
 ' Smiling George,' guessed his comrade. 
 
 'The Major, for a pony!' hazarded In- 
 spector Barber. 
 
 ' You're all wrong, believe me,' said I, 
 turning to the latter as I spoke. ' Napoleon 
 the Great is your man.' 
 
 There is little more to be told. Suffice it 
 to say, that I made one of the little party 
 from Scotland Yard who in an hour after the 
 conversation just recorded raided No. 324 
 Maida Vale, catching * Napoleon the Great ' 
 (still in the guise of a footman) in the very 
 
How I went Nap and got It 31 
 
 act of arranging with the best-known ' fence ' 
 in the metropolis for the sale of the Duchess 
 of Dorking's diamonds. 
 
 That we all receive a reward of some sort 
 for the day's work goes without saying. For 
 instance, Inspector Barber got the three 
 thousand pounds promised him by the 
 Duchess of Dorking for getting her jewels 
 back. Then Napoleon the Great got ten 
 years for taking them. 
 
 Observed the judge when passing sentence : 
 * It is really painful to hear of a man of your 
 undoubted ability so wasting what might 
 otherwise have been really valuable time.' 
 
 To which Napoleon replied : 'It is still 
 more painful, my lord, to hear that such a 
 man as you describe is doing time.' 
 
 And where do I come in } I will tell you. 
 There arrived one morning at my chambers 
 in the Temple a magnificent person who 
 could by no manner of means be mistaken 
 for anything but a Belgravian footman, who 
 handing me a small packet, together with a 
 note addressed in a lady's handwriting and 
 with a coronet on the envelope, requested me 
 in a condescending manner, to give 'em to 
 the governor when he was hup, and remark- 
 ing that it was ' infernally 'ot,' took his 
 
32 How I went Nap and got It 
 
 departure. (I omitted to mention that I 
 opened the door myself, and that I was in 
 my shirt sleeves.) 
 
 The packet on being- opened I found to 
 contain a very beautiful sapphire set in 
 brilliants for the shirt-front. The note was 
 from her Grace the Duchess of Dorking, 
 asking me, in the prettiest way imagin- 
 able, to accept the jewel in question as a 
 memento of the very great service she was 
 good enough to say I had rendered her. ' It 
 is very slight in itself,' she went on, ' but I 
 hope it won't be the less valuable in your 
 eyes when I tell that it formed part of a 
 necklace, which, having been the gift of my 
 dear father on my marriage, is one of my 
 most cherished possessions.' 
 
 When any of my friends who are not in 
 the secret admire it, I say to them, 'Yes, it 
 is rather nice. I won it at Nap.' 
 
So Highly Respectable 
 
so HIGHLY RESPECTABLE 
 
 Never, I venture to affirm — I think I would 
 do so ' on oath,' if necessary — did a stranger 
 coming to settle in a new place manage to 
 make himself at home, and ingratiate himself 
 with his neighbours, in so brief a space of 
 time as did Mr Ebenezer Hio-ainbotham, 
 the new tenant of Alma Cottage, a pretty, 
 rose-covered, two-storeyed house, situated 
 close to the high road, just outside the 
 little town of Slumberford, in Snoremborem- 
 shire. 
 
 Slumberford is an intensely respectable 
 place. I think the ancient abbey which it 
 possesses, and which is both its pride and 
 its principal source of income, makes it 
 so. If it were not for the abbey and the 
 good fishing in the neighbourhood, indeed, 
 both of which bring visitors to the town who 
 certainly would not come there otherwise, 
 I fail to see how a great proportion of the 
 inhabitants would eke out a living;. A oood 
 
 35 
 
36 So Highly Respectable 
 
 many of them dont, I fancy. This is very 
 certain : the publicans are the most thriving 
 people in the place (more especially the 
 one who makes a book on the sly), and 
 are, of course, 'highly respectable,' like their 
 neighbours. 
 
 Their charges alone — a youthful swell in 
 the Guards, sojourning at the Red Lion for 
 the fishing, was most rude, not to say abusive, 
 reoardinor them to Mr Blossom, the landlord 
 — would convince you of that, if nothing else 
 did. 
 
 Bless you, Blossom (he it is who makes 
 the book) is vicar's churchwarden, and can 
 quarrel and argue about church matters with 
 the best of them — and that means a good 
 deal, for squabbling amongst themselves is 
 apparently the principal — nay only — amuse- 
 ment of the Slumberford folk. They don't 
 seem to care indeed for any other sort of 
 relaxation for the mind. 
 
 The entertainers in general, such as con- 
 jurers, delineators of character, panoramas, 
 etc., all give Slumberford a wide berth, and 
 small blame to them. Even circuses, so 
 popular as a rule wherever they go, do worse 
 business there than anywhere else. If it 
 were not for those depraved little animals, 
 
So Highly Respectable 37 
 
 the children, they would do no good at 
 all. 
 
 With such a very strong odour of sanctity 
 pervading the place, then, it is scarcely 
 necessary to observe that any stranger 
 settling in their midst is regarded by the 
 good people of Slumberford with a consider- 
 able amount of suspicion before being made, 
 so to speak, free of the place. With Mr 
 Ebenezer Higginbotham, however, strange 
 to say, it was quite different. Just one 
 turn through the town, the day after his 
 arrival at Alma Cottage, was quite sufficient. 
 
 In that brief space of time the eyes of the 
 whole town were upon him, as may be 
 imagined, with the result that the new neigh- 
 bour was announced by all who had seen 
 him not only to be highly respectable, 
 but likely to be a credit to them in every 
 way. 
 
 How he managed to gain popularity so 
 suddenly I cannot imagine. I fancy, though, 
 that the glossy and highly respectable suit of 
 black he wore, and the diamond stud which 
 sparkled merrily in his spotless white shirt- 
 front, had something to do with it. 
 
 It certainly was not his countenance, 
 which was neither an open nor a pre- 
 
38 So Highly Respectable 
 
 possessing one, the features being flat, with 
 a decidedly foxy expression about the eyes ; 
 nor could it have been his presence, which was 
 anything but an imposing one, Mr Higgin- 
 botham's figure being short, not to say 
 stumpy. 
 
 He spent very little money in the town, 
 too, so it couldn't have been that. 
 
 He had a very pleasant way with him 
 though, and was wonderfully chatty, they 
 one and all said. 
 
 In short, before he had been settled at 
 Alma Cottage a week, he was ' hail fellow 
 well met' with everyone in the town. 
 
 The only people who didn't take to him 
 were the children and the dogs. Many a 
 smack was administered to Johnny or Susy 
 because they would not go and speak to Mr 
 Hioorinbotham — and he was so free with his 
 peppermint drops too. Many a cuff or kick 
 did Jack or Nettle get for showing their 
 teeth and growling instead of fawning upon 
 this good man when he made friendly over- 
 tures to them, as was his invariable custom. 
 
 And then how good and kind he was to 
 that poor old wife of his, whom he used to 
 drive about in that funny little half gig, 
 half buggy of his, with the fast-trotting 
 
So Highly Respectable 39 
 
 pony ; a lady who looked more like a bundle 
 of old clothes than anything else, and who 
 stared blankly at you if you addressed her, 
 and seldom spoke a word. Such a look it 
 was ! a sort of dazed expression with a dash 
 of terror in it. 
 
 The townspeople would tap their fore- 
 heads significantly and look very sagacious 
 when the worthy couple were out of sight, 
 saying to each other, 'Ah, poor gentle- 
 man ! No wonder he don't have no com- 
 pany at the cottage ! What a pity it is ! ' 
 and so on. And no one seemed to regret 
 the latter circumstance more than Mr 
 Higginbotham himself. He was perpetu- 
 ally telling everybody how much he wished 
 he was able to return their hospitality, if 
 in ever so humble a manner ; but, as he 
 said, with his poor, dear wife in the pitiable 
 state she was in, it was a moral impossibility ; 
 it would, indeed, be painful alike to his 
 guests and himself. Extraordinary fancies 
 the poor lady had, too, in all of which her 
 devoted husband humoured her. One of 
 them was wishing to go for a drive at un- 
 earthly hours of the night. 
 
 Consequently, it was no uncommon thing 
 for the police on night duty to see the now 
 
40 So Highly Respectable 
 
 well-known gig, drawn by the fast-trotting 
 pony, with Mr Higginbotham and his poor 
 old wife come bowling along the country 
 lanes at twelve or one o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 Some six months after the worthy old 
 gentleman had been a tenant of Alma 
 Cottage, there were a great many burglaries 
 in the neighbourhood, and the inspector of 
 police felt it his 'dooty,' as he called it, to 
 warn Mr Higginbotham against driving 
 about so late all by himself. 
 
 ' At all events,' he added, * if so be as you 
 must do so, on account, as you tell me, of 
 giving way to your good lady's whims and 
 fancies — which, of course, is very creditable 
 to you as a man and a husband — I should 
 certainly, if I was you, sir, carry something 
 in the shape of a revolver about with me 
 just for safety's sake.' 
 
 Oh, you can't conceive how grateful the 
 venerable Higginbotham was for the hint! 
 So much obliged he was ! Would the 
 sergeant add to his kindness by giving his 
 valuable advice, and helping him to purchase 
 one ? For he had never handled such a 
 thing in his life. Accordingly, the very 
 next afternoon saw the inspector and Mr 
 
So Highly Respectable 41 
 
 Higginbotham in Mr Snapper's the gun- 
 maker's shop, busily engaged in looking 
 over that gentleman's rather limited stock 
 of revolvers. 
 
 A selection was made at last, and Mr 
 Higginbotham walked proudly away with 
 it, together with a box containing, the 
 facetious Mr Snapper remarked, enough 
 cartridges to shoot a whole army of 
 burglars. 
 
 ' Burglars ! ' added he, afterwards, to the 
 sergeant, when he had got him by himself. 
 ' It strikes me that the poor old gent's a 
 precious deal more likely to shoot himself or 
 his wife than anybody else. If he drops 
 her by accident one of these fine nights, 
 sergeant, her blood'll be on your 'ead, my 
 boy, I'm blessed if it won't. 
 
 'Never mind,' added he, 'I take it very 
 friendly of you bringing Mr H. along to my 
 place, and if you don't object we'll turn into 
 the Lion and have a friendly glass on the 
 strength of it.' 
 
 That revolver of Mr Hiooinbotham's 
 
 00 
 
 afforded amusement to the town for weeks. 
 It was continually going off of its own 
 accord and damaging its owner or some- 
 body. 
 
42 So Highly Respectable 
 
 One day it would playfully knock off the 
 black bunch of cherries that grew on the 
 top of Mrs Higginbotham's Sunday bonnet ; 
 the next it would be her husband's hat-brim 
 that would suffer ; anon the celebrated pony's 
 ear would be grazed, causing him to break 
 from his usual fast trot into a wild gallop. 
 
 Oh ! it was something like a revolver, 
 that, and worth the price its proud owner 
 had given for it ten times over, if only for 
 the fun it afforded. The burglaries in the 
 neighbourhood still kept going on, and Mr 
 Higginbotham's revolver kept going off, so 
 that the natives of Slumberford had not had 
 so much to talk about for ages past. 
 
 As for the different inns — the Red Lion, 
 the Bald-faced Stag, the Cat and the Fiddle, 
 and others — they had not done so much 
 trade for a very long while. 
 
 I have already mentioned that, with the 
 exception of the children and the dogs, Mr 
 Higginbotham was a great favourite with 
 everybody, both in the town and round 
 about. I should have said, however, that 
 there was one person whom he occasionally 
 came in contact with in his walks or drives 
 abroad, whose good graces he never could 
 succeed in working himself into, and who 
 
So Highly Respectable 43 
 
 steadily declined all efforts at fraternisation 
 on Mr Higginbotham's part. This was 
 John Scragg, riverkeeper to Sir Charles 
 Birdmore, Bart., of Birdmore Park, whose 
 estate lay all round the town of Slumberford 
 — the park gates, in fact, were but just 
 outside — and who, though seldom at home, 
 was quite the greatest man in those parts. 
 There was very fine fishing, both trout 
 and salmon, on the estate, and this being let 
 out in rods — for Sir Charles was no fisher- 
 man himself — the lessees were forced to stay 
 at Slumberford whenever they wanted to 
 disport themselves on the river with rod and 
 line, the consequence being, as I have before 
 mentioned, that the Birdmore fishing was 
 the means of brinoina a considerable amount 
 
 o o 
 
 of money into the town, especially to its inn- 
 keepers ; and Slumberford was proportion- 
 ately grateful in consequence. John Scragg 
 then was the person who was appointed to 
 look after the river that held the fish that 
 were caught by the men who fished in the 
 fishery Sir Charles let. He was a short, 
 sturdy specimen of an Englishman of be- 
 tween fifty and sixty, honest as the day, and 
 as plain and blunt in his speech as he was in 
 appearance. 
 
44- So Highly Respectable 
 
 There was not an atom of the courtier, in 
 fact, in his composition, as the renters of the 
 fisheries were very soon aware. He was 
 just as civil to plain Mr Jones or Mr Smith 
 as he was to Lord Highflyer or the Honour- 
 able Mr Dawdle of the Guards — more so, 
 indeed, if he was a good fisherman. Like 
 the dogs and the children, John took a dis- 
 like to Mr Higginbotham the very first time 
 he saw him, and though he was constantly 
 meeting that gentleman by the riverside, it 
 was as much as ever he could do to allow 
 himself to be civil to him. 
 
 And yet, for the life of him, he couldn't 
 tell why. When he was asked by the agent 
 on the estate, to whom he was unbosomino" 
 himself on the subject, what his reason was 
 for disbelieving in so very harmless a 
 specimen of humanity, to all appearance, his 
 reply, with a comical shake of his wooden 
 old head, was, ' I dunno, no more than yersel, 
 sir ; there's summat wrong about the mon, 
 and I canna tell what it is.' And that was 
 all John could ever be brought to say on the 
 subject. 
 
 Well, about half-past eleven or a quarter 
 to twelve one dark night in January, John 
 was returning home, after taking his usual 
 
So Highly Respectable 45 
 
 walk round to see that the coast was clear 
 of depredators in the shape of salmon 
 poachers and eel prodders, when, casting his 
 eye in the direction of the big house, as he 
 called Sir Charles's mansion, which lay on 
 the other side of the river, just opposite to 
 where he was, he was surprised to see a light 
 twinklino- from the drawino--room window. 
 
 o o 
 
 The family were all away in London, and 
 Mrs Scummers the housekeeper and her niece 
 were the only people sleeping in the house, 
 as he very well knew, and they would not be 
 very likely to be in the drawing-room at that 
 hour of the night, he felt very certain, and 
 experienced in consequence a very strong 
 inclination to go and find out who the intruder 
 was. 
 
 The recent burglaries in the neighbour- 
 hood, too, made the plucky old fellow more 
 keen than ever. 
 
 He felt in the velveteen coat that he wore 
 winter and summer. 
 
 Hurrah ! The key of the gates of the 
 bridge that crossed the river to the pleasure- 
 grounds was in one of the side pockets, so he 
 would not have to go to his cottage for it, 
 and no time would consequently be lost. He 
 had half a mind though to go and fetch his 
 
4-6 So Highly Respectable 
 
 bulldog Crib, who was his dumb companion 
 on his night excursions, but on this occasion, 
 by chance, had been left behind. 
 
 On second thoughts, however, he decided 
 not to — not only would valuable time be lost, 
 but the dog might be in the way. 
 
 Accordingly, he crossed the bridge, and 
 tramped along across the grass towards the 
 house, keeping the light, which still peeped 
 out from between the crevices of the draw- 
 ino-room shutters, well in view. 
 
 On tiptoe — though a clumsy man, his foot- 
 step could be very light if he chose — he crept 
 to the window and peeped in. 
 
 John took a good look, and then stepped 
 back as silently as he came. Standing on 
 the grass he gave a sort of gasp of relief, for 
 he had held his breath as long as he could, 
 and then g^rowled to himself — his ruooed face 
 wearing as he did so a look of unmitioated 
 satisfaction — */ a/Zics said as there was 
 sumviat wrong about the man!' Then, 
 having considered a moment, he moved off, 
 still on tiptoe, towards the other side of the 
 house, where lay the front door. 
 
 A whinnying noise from behind a clump of 
 trees on the other side of the carriage drive 
 made him start. ' None of them Forest 
 
So Highly Respectable 47 
 
 ponies ain't put here, I know,' he thought to 
 himself; ' I must go and have a look who 
 you are, my boy, for it's so gallus dark I can't 
 see ' — shading his eyes as he spoke, and 
 peering in vain through the darkness. 
 
 Arrived at the clump of trees, he was not 
 a bit surprised, as evinced by his giving vent 
 to the exclamation of, ' Hook me tight if I 
 didn't think so' — an expression, by the way, 
 supposed to have been invented by John 
 himself — to find standing underneath it the 
 well-known pony and trap belonging to that 
 distinguished addition to Slumberford society, 
 Mr EbenezerHigginbotham, of Alma Cottage. 
 
 He was rather taken aback though when 
 he beheld, seated in his conveyance, the 
 dilapidated figure of that good gentleman's 
 invalid wife. 
 
 Once more he paused for a moment ; the 
 next he walked up to the gig and addressed 
 her by name, with the remark, 'It's a dark 
 night, mum.' 
 
 Getting no reply, and muttering to himself, 
 ' The old gal's asleep, I verily believe ! ' he 
 took her gently by the shoulder and gave her 
 a slight shake. To his astonishment the 
 poor lady, who seemed utterly limp and 
 powerless, fell right into his arms. 
 
48 So Highly Respectable 
 
 ' Hold up, missis!' exclaimed John, putting 
 her back into her seat again. 
 
 The next instant he nearly fell backwards 
 himself, in his astonishment at what he had 
 discovered. 
 
 ' Why, so help me all the fishermen in 
 England,' gasped he, ' if she ain't stuffed 
 with stra' ! She ain't got no harms, nor legs, 
 nor face, and she's stuffed wi' stra', like one 
 o' them exhibition things at a fair, hook me 
 tight if she ain't ! ' 
 
 Again he paused for a moment, put on a 
 puzzled expression, and scratched his head 
 vigorously. Then he burst into an uncon- 
 trollable fit of laughter. 
 
 So tickled was John Scragg at some idea 
 that passed across his mind at that identical 
 moment that it was all he could do to keep 
 his merriment within bounds. 
 
 He checked his laughter until his usu- 
 ally sallow face turned the colour of a 
 beetroot, and clutched his throat to prevent 
 the chuckles that would keep bubbling up 
 until he was all but choked. 
 
 As it was, in spite of all his efforts, sundry 
 extraordinary sounds between a wheeze and 
 a cough would insist on making themselves 
 heard, causing the highly respectable pony 
 
So Highly Respectable 49 
 
 to prick his ears and turn his head round 
 as though to say, ' This is a sort of thing 
 I am not at all used to. Who is this dis- 
 reputable person, I wonder ? ' 
 
 At last John, recovering himself, and 
 wiping the tears from his eyes with the back 
 of his hand, proceeded to business. 
 
 Lifting the effigy of Mrs Higginbotham 
 — which proved on inspection to be a pillow 
 dressed up for the occasion — from the gig, 
 he hid it away amongst the branches of the 
 trees, and then proceeded to adorn his own 
 person with the black dress, cloak, bonnet 
 and veil he had previously taken from the 
 dummy. 
 
 He then clambered into the gig, and 
 waited with much wonderment to see what 
 would happen next. 
 
 He must have sat there fully half an hour, 
 with his eyes fixed steadily upon the house, 
 until cold and want of rest combined made 
 him 'that drowsy-like,' as he afterwards 
 expressed it, that it was all he could do to 
 manage to keep himself from dropping to 
 sleep, when the pony, pricking up his ears 
 and giving a slight whinny, at once brought 
 the old riverkeeper to attention. 
 
 A sound, too, at the same time, as of a 
 
 D 
 
50 So Highly Respectable 
 
 gentle closing of a door, and a light footstep 
 on the carriage drive, made him aware that 
 his man was not far off. 
 
 He chuckled grimly to himself when he 
 thought of the gentle shock his enemy would 
 experience when he revealed his presence to 
 him. 
 
 Another second and the immaculate Mr 
 Higginbotham stood before him, a large and 
 well-filled black bag in his hand. Taking 
 off the crape mask that adorned his classic 
 features, he stuffed the bag under the seat, 
 took the reins, jumped into his place beside 
 his dear wife, and with a 'Cut along, Bingo!' 
 to the pony, drove rapidly off into the 
 darkness of the night. 
 
 John Scragg, holding his breath at his 
 side, wondered how his highly respectable 
 companion would get on at the lodge, which 
 he must pass in order to get into the high 
 road — a mystery, however, which was quickly 
 solved when they reached the obstacle in 
 question, by Mr Higginbotham coolly dis- 
 mounting from the vehicle and opening the 
 gate with a private key which he produced 
 from his pocket. 
 
 He then led the pony through, and, having 
 closed the gate quietly behind him, once 
 
So Highly Respectable 5 i 
 
 more jumped up to his seat and drove 
 quickly off. Now John was quite aware 
 of the fact that on his way to Alma Cottage 
 it was necessary for Mr Higginbotham to 
 pass the police-station ;. and the plan of 
 action that he had formed in his own mind 
 was, unless discovered before, to lay hold 
 of that gentleman when they arrived opposite 
 to it, and call loudly for help. 
 
 He was just preparing for his spring, and 
 had actually opened his mouth for a shout, 
 when, to his surprise, his companion began 
 to slacken his pace of his own accord. A 
 second later, and he had pulled up in order 
 to exchange a pleasant ' Good-night ' with 
 his friend the inspector, who was standing 
 talking to a mounted patrol outside the 
 station-house. 
 
 • Well, Mr Higginbotham, how are you, 
 sir?' inquired that jolly personage. 'Late 
 again, as usual. Been taking your good 
 lady out for a drive, eh ? What a good 
 man you are ! Ton my word, I don't know 
 your equal — certainly not in Slumberford ! 
 And how is Mrs H. ? 
 
 ' Hope I see you well, ma'am ? ' said the 
 polite inspector, raising his cap slightly as 
 he spoke. 
 
52 So Highly Respectable 
 
 ' Fust rate, thankee kindly, Mr Buffles,' 
 roared the voice of John Scragg, in reply. 
 * At least, as well as a man can be wi' such 
 a burglerin' villain as this a-settin' by his 
 side.' 
 
 With that he seized his astonished com- 
 panion round the body with a grasp that a 
 bear might have envied, and in another 
 second the pair were rolling over and over 
 on the ground together in mortal combat, 
 at the feet of the startled inspector. 
 
 The struggle did not last long. Mr 
 Ebenezer Higginbotham, though he made 
 an extremely good fight of it, had not a 
 chance acrainst such a touofh bit of stuff 
 as John Scragg. 
 
 ' I don't want to hit thee while thou'rt 
 on the ground, man,' panted John ; ' but 
 unless thou lets go of my throttle, I sha'n't 
 hold my hand no longer.' The answer 
 being a still tighter hold than before of 
 the riverkeeper's throat, John's right hand, 
 no longer to be restrained, fell with all its 
 weight on the side of his antagonist's head, 
 causing his fingers to relax, and rendering 
 him powerless to struggle further. 
 
 ' Well, this is a start ! ' exclaimed the 
 inspector, as John Scragg in his female 
 
So Highly Respectable 53 
 
 attire, now rather the worse for wear, sprang 
 to his feet and told his story, finishing up by 
 hauHng the black bag, which proved to be 
 full of spoil from the big house, out of the 
 gig and handing it to the wondering guardian 
 of the peace. 
 
 If any further proof were wanting, the 
 crape mask, the centre bit, the jemmy, and 
 last, but not least, the celebrated revolver, 
 which the inspector himself had invited 
 its highly respectable owner to purchase, 
 supplied the deficiency. 
 
 There remains little to be told. 
 
 Mr Ebenezer Higginbotham, still in- 
 sensible, was assisted into the station-house, 
 where he was accommodated with a bed for 
 the night ; the pony and trap being also 
 taken care of by the police. 
 
 As for John Scragg, having divested 
 himself of Mrs Higginbotham's garments — 
 in which, by the way, the inspector told him 
 he looked quite bewitching — he partook with 
 great cordiality of the glass of steaming hot 
 brandy and water proffered to him by that 
 admiring officer, and then, lighting his pipe, 
 trudged sturdily off home. 
 
 When Mr Ebenezer Higginbotham's house 
 came to be overhauled the next day, the 
 
54 So Highly Respectable 
 
 proceeds of several of the recent burglaries 
 in the neighbourhood were found on the 
 premises. Needless to say, the disgust and 
 indignation of the good people of Slumber- 
 ford, when they found out what sort of an 
 angel it was they had been entertaining 
 unawares, knew no bounds. 
 
 Nothing- was bad enouo^h now for the 
 highly respectable tenant of Alma Cottage ; 
 and the fourteen years' penal servitude he 
 was sentenced to by the judge at the Assizes 
 was unanimously voted as not being anything 
 like sufficient punishment for such a bad 
 man. 
 
 You may depend upon this : that any 
 stranger coming to settle down in Slumber- 
 ford, or its immediate vicinity, in the future 
 will be looked upon with eyes of great 
 suspicion, unless he is immediately taken to 
 by the children, the dogs, and — last — but not 
 least — John Scragg, the riverkeeper. 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 
 
THE GREEN DRESSING GOWN 
 
 1 HAVE come across a good many charming 
 old ladies in my time, but never, no never, 
 have I ever met one who, in racing parlance, 
 could give so much weight away to the rest 
 of her sex as my paternal grandmother, who 
 not only in my own estimation was the very 
 dearest old soul that ever drew breath, but — 
 and it does my heart good to record it — was 
 beloved by everyone — man, woman and 
 child — she came into contact with. I say 
 was advisedly, for, to my sorrow, she has 
 been dead now these five years. 
 
 When a boy at school I never missed a 
 holiday without paying her a visit at the old 
 Manor House, and the pleasurable anticipa- 
 tion which which I looked forward to these 
 visits no words of mine can express. More 
 than that, the older I got, the more I en- 
 joyed them. 
 
 The Manor House is mine now, and I 
 make it my home when I am at home ; but 
 
 57 
 
58 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 somehow, fond though I am of the place, it 
 never seems quite the same, deprived as it is 
 of the presence of the white-haired chatelaine 
 who became it so well. The old butler still 
 remains, and he and I occasionally try and 
 talk over old times, but it is but a poor 
 attempt as a rule. 
 
 ' My dear old mistress,' he begins — and 
 then the poor old man breaks down and 
 leaves the room abruptly ; and I — well, I 
 make a fool of myself, and am not ashamed 
 to own it. There was one particular room 
 in the Manor House which always had a 
 special charm for me, and that was the one 
 known to me from early boyhood as ' grand- 
 papa's room,' and since I arrived at man's 
 estate as my grandfather's room. 
 
 After his death his widow would not allow 
 a thing in it to be touched. Everything was 
 in its place just as he left it ; and there she 
 would sit for hours thinking of her 'man,' as 
 she always called the husband who was as 
 devoted to her in his lifetime as she was to 
 him. 
 
 Notwithstanding its heavy, old-fashioned 
 furniture, it was the cheeriest and brightest 
 of rooms, with its French windows opening 
 on to the mistress's rose garden, with a view 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 59 
 
 of the park and the country beyond which 
 would have gladdened the heart of a landscape 
 painter. But its special charm for me was 
 the decidedly sporting tone that prevailed. 
 
 Two of its sides were given up to book- 
 shelves, which, with the exception of a 
 hundred volumes or so of the Annual 
 Register, were entirely devoted to books 
 of sport of every kind. 
 
 Over the mantelpiece hung a portrait in 
 oil of Sir Harry, the winner of the Chester 
 Cup, and the best racehorse my grandfather 
 ever owned ; over that again a fox's mask 
 and a couple of brushes to match ; while 
 scattered about the room in rich profusion 
 were other paintings, by Herring and 
 Ferneley, of favourite racehorses and hunters ; 
 sundry shooting bits by Cooper, and numerous 
 smaller fry in the shape of highly-coloured 
 prints after Aiken and others. A capacious 
 gun cupboard occupied one recess, and an 
 old-fashioned fold-up bedstead, to which 
 my grandfather was in the habit of taking 
 himself off" when laid low by the periodical 
 attacks of gout he was subject to, another. 
 Last, but not least, there hung on a hook on 
 the door a bright green pink-flowered silk 
 dressing gown. An ordinary garment enough. 
 
6o The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 but one which for years had a peculiar 
 fascination for me, for the reason that I felt 
 there was a history of some sort attached 
 to it. I never remember my grandmother 
 angry with me but once, and that was one 
 wet day during one of my periodical visits 
 in the Eton holidays, when, having nothing 
 better to do, it occurred to me to 'dress up,' 
 as I called it, in grandpapa's dressing gown, 
 and, having done so, away I danced to the 
 drawing-room in high glee to show myself 
 off. 
 
 To my intense astonishment, instead of 
 being amused, as I had fully expected she 
 would have been, my grandmother was 
 downright angry. Divesting me of the 
 sacred garment on the spot, she made me 
 promise there and then — the tears were 
 in her eyes as she did so, I noticed — never 
 to lay my sacrilegious hands upon it again. 
 
 Many a time after this did I endeavour 
 to extract from my grandmother the mystery 
 in which I felt sure the green dressing gown 
 was enshrouded, but I was invariably met 
 with the same answer. 
 
 ' Not now, my dear ; not now. Wait until 
 you are a man, and then I'll tell you all 
 about it.' 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 6i 
 
 And the dear old lady kept her word to 
 the letter. I spoke no more of holidays now, 
 for I had not only left Eton, but said 'good- 
 bye ' to Oxford as well when I once more 
 arrived at the Manor House to spend my 
 twenty-first birthday, in accordance with a 
 long-standing agreement with my grand- 
 mother. And in keeping my promise I may 
 mention that I made a small sacrifice, inas- 
 much that I had received a most pressing 
 invitation to make one of a house party 
 to attend the Chester races, which were on 
 that very week ; the time-honoured Chester 
 Cup, now no longer the important event in 
 the racing world it was in former years, being 
 run, oddly enough as it turned out, on my 
 birthday. 
 
 I had never been to Chester, and in a 
 way I was disappointed. But my dear 
 grandmother's happiness at ' having me all 
 to myself,' as she said, more than made up 
 for it. An additional salve too arrived in 
 the shape of a telegram during the afternoon, 
 informing me that the horse I had backed 
 had won ; so that it was in a very contented 
 frame of mind I sat down to dinner that 
 night tete-a-tUe with the best loved relative, 
 barring my mother, I had in the world, 
 
62 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 * And now, my dear,' said my grandmother, 
 as she rose to leave the room, ' when you 
 have finished your wine join me in your 
 grandfather's room, and I'll keep my promise 
 of years ago to you, and tell you the story of 
 the green dressing gown.' 
 
 It may readily be imagined that my grand- 
 mother's excellent claret and still more ex- 
 cellent port had little or no attraction for me 
 that night, so great was my anxiety to get to 
 the bottom of the mystery ; and my aged 
 relative, I fear, had hardly had time to settle 
 herself in her easy-chair before I joined her. 
 Her dear old face brightened up as I 
 entered. 
 
 ' I thought you wouldn't be long, my dear,' 
 she said, adding, * And now, sit down 
 opposite me in my dear old man's own 
 particular chair, light a cigar, then listen 
 to me whilst I tell my tale, or rather, I should 
 say, make my confession,' Like a good boy, 
 I did as I was told, and as soon as she saw 
 my cigar was well under way my grand- 
 mother commenced as follows : — 
 
 ' You know, my dear, by hearsay at least, 
 for you were only a baby when he died, what 
 a keen sportsman your grandfather was. 
 Hunting, shooting, fishing — he was an adept 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 63 
 
 at them all. The Turf too he had been 
 fond of all his life. But it was not until 
 his hereditary enemy the gout laid such 
 a heavy hand upon him, putting a stop 
 in a great measure to an active participa- 
 tion in all the amusements I have men- 
 tioned, that he embarked upon it in earnest. 
 
 ' You see, my dear,' explained my grand- 
 mother, ' you can't do your shooting or 
 fishing from a carriage very well, though you 
 can your hunting after a fashion, that is to 
 say if pounding along a road and looking on 
 at hounds running in the distance, with every 
 chance of your heading the fox into the 
 bargain, is good enough. 
 
 ' But that sort of thing didn't suit your 
 grandfather at all. He was one of those sort of 
 men who if he couldn't do a thing thoroughly 
 would let it alone. Consequently he gave up 
 — and, ah me ! how reluctantly ! — all his 
 favourite field sports one by one, and went in 
 for racing — the only amusement, as he said, 
 which was left to him — heart and soul. In a 
 very short time indeed he was thoroughly 
 infatuated with it ; and I am afraid,' sighed 
 my grandmother, shaking her head with a 
 self-reproachful air, ' that I was as bad as he 
 was, 
 
64 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 ' Oh, if my dear old man could only 
 have won the Derby,' she exclaimed, ' what 
 a happy day it would have been for both 
 of us ! 
 
 ' But we never had the good fortune,' she 
 went on. ' Everything we bred, promising 
 though many of them looked when sent to 
 the trainer, turned out moderate to a degree, 
 to the great detriment of your grandfather's 
 pocket, as you may imagine ; and it was not 
 until he claimed Sir Harry there ' (pointing 
 to the portrait over the mantelpiece) ' out of 
 a small selling race at Newmarket, that the 
 luck began to change. Dear Sir Harry ! 
 How few people — not even the cleverest 
 — ever imagined that the despised selling 
 plater, hitherto trained for short distance 
 races, very few of which he succeeded in 
 winning, and those only in indifferent 
 company, would turn out to be one of the 
 very best stayers in England, and a Cup 
 horse of the first quality. How proud we 
 were of him, and best of all, my dear, how 
 fond the general public were of him. The 
 scene when he won the Northumberland 
 Plate I shall never forget to my dying day. 
 How the rough pitmen cheered as your 
 grandfather led the winner back to scale ! 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 65 
 
 ' " Three cheers for t' best horse i' t' 
 coontry ! " shouted one grimy giant. 
 
 ' " Three more for t' mon that owns him ! " 
 bellowed another. 
 
 'And then when your grandfather returned 
 to the carriage, after the welcome " All right " 
 had been announced by the clerk of the scales, 
 the crowd started cheering me. As for Sir 
 Harry, the only wonder is that he had any 
 hairs left in his tail, poor dear ! such a quantity 
 were pulled out as souvenirs of the occasion 
 by his countless admirers on the course. I 
 am sure I am not exaggerating in saying that 
 he was the most popular horse of his time ; 
 and now, before his final retirement from the 
 Turf, he was to be asked to perform a task 
 which, if brought to a successful conclusion, 
 would, by putting all his previous perform- 
 ances in the shade, add undying lustre to his 
 name. 
 
 'In plain English, my husband had ac- 
 cepted with him in the Chester Cup, for 
 which the handicapper had awarded him the 
 heaviest weight it was in his power to give. 
 That official meant it as a compliment, no 
 doubt ; in fact, considering Sir Harry's 
 previous performances, I don't very well see 
 how he could, in fairness to the other horses 
 
 E 
 
66 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 in the race, have been more lenient ; but to 
 us, who were so fond of him, it seemed 
 rather hard on the old horse for all that. 
 
 ' The other patrons of the stable, amongst 
 whom were one or two of the very 
 shrewdest men on the Turf, gave it as their 
 opinion that Sir Harry was handicapped 
 clean out of the race, and strongly advised 
 my husband to scratch him. Your grand- 
 father, however, declared openly that he 
 feared nothing in the race, and that unless 
 Sir Harry succumbed in any way to the 
 exigencies of training, he would not only run 
 for the Chester Cup, but was certain to win 
 it into the bargain. 
 
 * The trainer, too, wouldn't hear of defeat. 
 I really believe had any one suggested such 
 an idea to any of the employes of the stable 
 there would have been murder. The British 
 public, I need scarcely say, declined to hear 
 a word against their idol, and declared " on " 
 to a man. Some of the list men, people 
 said, would be utterly ruined if Sir Harry 
 won. Davis, the biggest of them all, 
 showed what he thought of the horse's 
 chance by laying my husband fifty thousand 
 to a thousand in one bet, to say nothing of 
 a host of fancy wagers — Sir Harry against 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 67 
 
 other horses in the race, in their places. 
 Weight of money — pubHc money — at last 
 told its tale, and extravagant as it may 
 seem, a fortnight before the race found Sir 
 Harry firmly established favourite for the 
 Chester Cup. 
 
 ' Indeed it was an exciting time. And, 
 alas ! it proved too much so for your poor 
 grandfather, whose frame, enfeebled as it 
 was by repeated attacks of gout, was unable 
 to stand the severe strain suddenly put 
 upon it. In fact, he completely broke 
 down, both physically and mentally, and it 
 seemed every day more doubtful whether 
 he would live over the race. The Press, of 
 course, got hold of it, and emissaries were 
 actually sent down from London to make 
 inquiries. In fact, my poor husband was 
 touted far more systematically than his 
 horse. Bets were even made, I was in- 
 formed — nay, saw recorded in the papers, 
 with my own eyes — that the owner of the 
 favourite would die before the Chester Cup 
 was run, and how angry it made me I 
 cannot tell you. 
 
 ' When we wheeled my poor dear in his 
 invalid chair, clad in the green dressing 
 gown you see hanging there, out of this 
 
68 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 very window, into the rose garden beyond, 
 where he would He sunning himself for 
 hours, we could see men dodging about 
 behind the trees in the park beyond, taking 
 in every movement with their race-glasses, 
 I need scarcely say that Sir Harry suffered 
 in the betting in consequence, though not 
 to the extent one might have imagined. 
 
 ' " The Squire wanted rousing," the doctor 
 said, and he, poor man, was doing his best 
 you may be sure, for, like the rest of us, he 
 was a firm believer in Sir Harry, and had 
 backed him at the long odds accordingly. 
 
 * " If you could get some friend of a lively 
 temperament down to keep your husband 
 company and cheer him up and distract his 
 thoughts generally, it would do him more 
 good, my dear madam, than all the doctors 
 in England!" 
 
 ' Thus spoke the doctor, and taking his 
 advice I wrote off that very day to Mr 
 Charles Merridew, one of my husband's 
 most valued friends, and, as you know, the 
 greatest comedian of his day, explain- 
 ing the circumstances of the case and 
 begging him, if it were possible, to come 
 down to us at the Manor House at once. 
 
 ' God bless him ! At a quarter to four 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 69 
 
 o'clock the very next afternoon a post- 
 chaise with four horses attached was to be 
 seen tearino alongr the carriaoe drive at 
 a gallop, and the next instant Charlie 
 Merridew was shaking me by the hand — 
 both hands — and asking me a thousand 
 questions all at once in the impulsive 
 manner that was part and parcel of himself. 
 
 ' " My dear old friend not live over the 
 Chester Cup day," he exclaimed. " Non- 
 sense ! nonsense! He must live — he shall 
 live, my dear Mrs Standish, not only over 
 Sir Harry's Chester Cup, but many more 
 in the time to come, or my name isn't 
 Merridew. Besides, haven't I backed Sir 
 Harry to win me ten thousand ! Why, I 
 shall be ruined if anything happens to 
 prevent his running. 
 
 ' " The gentlemen of the Press bothering 
 you, are they ? I'll bother them a bit before 
 I've done with them. 
 
 '"What W(?2//(3^ they say, I wonder — what 
 will they say, when they see — as they shall 
 see before we are twenty-four hours older — 
 the owner of the favourite for the Chester 
 Cup dancing the sailor's hornpipe on his own 
 lawn attired in the grreen dressing- o-own he 
 begged of me years ago ? 
 
70 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 * " You remember — wore it when I played 
 Beau Lollington in The Fop — ran for five 
 hundred nights — gave it to dear old Ned 
 after I had taken it off for the last time — 
 had to play the part again soon afterwards — 
 obliged to buy another — a grey one this time 
 — still harping on the parrot, you perceive — 
 not the same thing though — never liked it so 
 much as my old green one. Moral : never 
 lose sight of an old friend if you can possibly 
 avoid it. Couldn't help it though in this case, 
 could I, Mrs Standish ? eh ? " 
 
 ' Then I led the great actor to my husband, 
 the quick glance he threw at me, as he 
 clasped his old ally by the hand, telling me 
 plainer than words how shocked he was at 
 the change which had taken place since they 
 had last met. The next instant and he was 
 seated by his side, running on in his usual 
 airy and volatile manner, letting off jokes 
 and telling stories by the score, and waking 
 up the drowsy rose garden with that wonder- 
 ful laugh of his, so familiar to playgoers. 
 High spirits are infectious, and my husband, 
 ill as he was, at once fell a victim and 
 brightened up so all of a sudden as to make 
 me regret that I had not begged this staunch 
 friend to run down and see us before. 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 71 
 
 Joined by the doctor, who was deh'ghted by 
 the success of his prescription, we were quite 
 a merry party at dinner that night, and did 
 not forget, you may depend, to drink Sir 
 Harry's heahh, proposed by our visitor in a 
 humorous speech. Finally we all went to 
 bed in the best of spirits. 
 
 ' On rising next morning, my maid, busy 
 brushing my hair, remarked how glad she 
 was to see master "so much better this 
 morninor." 
 
 ' " He's up and about amongst the roses," 
 she added, "just as he used to before he was 
 took so bad." 
 
 '"About and amongst the roses, Jane!" 
 I exclaimed in astonishment. " What ^(? you 
 mean r 
 
 '"What I say, ma'am," replied Jane. 
 " Look out of the window, and you'll see for 
 yourself, ma'am." 
 
 ' I flew to the window, and, sure enough, 
 there was to all intents and purposes my 
 husband, who I imagined lying helpless in bed, 
 trotting about in his green dressing gown, a 
 pair of scissors in one hand and a basket in 
 the other, cutting off a rose here, a dead leaf 
 there, and humming- a little song to himself 
 all the time in the cheeriest manner iniagin- 
 
72 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 able. Looking up from his occupation for a 
 second he caught sight of my astonished face 
 at the open window. 
 
 '"Breakfast, my dear; breakfast!" he 
 called out, kissing his hand as he spoke. 
 
 ' A horrible thought struck me that he 
 must have suddenly gone out of his mind, 
 and hastily donning a wrapper, I tore down 
 stairs and out of doors. 
 
 ' " My dear Ned," I began. 
 
 "* Ha, ha, ha! I always said I was the 
 best ' make-up ' in England, and now I'm sure 
 of it," exclaimed Charles Merridew, for he it 
 was, in high glee, executing as he spoke a 
 few steps of the sailor's hornpipe. 
 
 '"Don't say a word," he whispered; 
 "we've got at least half-a-dozen race-glasses 
 levelled at us at the present moment, and 
 the sporting papers will be full of it to- 
 morrow morning, and this is what they'll 
 say : ' We are glad to be in a position to 
 state for a fact that the popular owner of 
 Sir Harry has so far recovered from his 
 recent severe indisposition that there is 
 every probability of his being present in 
 person on Wednesday next to see his 
 horse run for the Chester Cup.' Sir Harry 
 will be favourite again before the day's 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 73 
 
 out, see if he isn't ! — I know — ha, ha, 
 ha!" 
 
 'It was indeed a good "make up."' 
 ' Mr Merridew and my husband were 
 both about the same height and build, and 
 there was a great similarity with regard to 
 that prominent feature, the nose, both being 
 of the Roman pattern. On the other hand 
 the former possessed a luxuriant head of 
 hair, and was clean shaven, whilst your 
 grandfather was very bald, and wore bushy 
 whiskers meeting nearly under his chin. 
 Here the actor's art came in with the happy 
 result that I have told you ; so happy indeed 
 that at a little distance no one could have 
 detected the deception. 
 
 * Well, my dear, the Chester Cup day 
 arrived at last, the brightest May day you 
 can possibly imagine. The doctor had been 
 to see his patient, had remained to luncheon, 
 and gone off chuckling ; partly at the 
 success of his treatment, and partly no doubt 
 at the prospect of Sir Harry winning him 
 a comfortable sum of money ; whilst I re- 
 tired to my own room to write a few letters 
 by way of distracting my thoughts. So 
 engrossed was I that I took no account of 
 the time, until looking up to the clock I was 
 
74 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 astonished to find that it was five and thirty- 
 minutes past three, and the time appointed 
 for the Chester Cup to be run was half-past 
 the hour. 
 
 ' *' They may be running now, for all I 
 know," I thought to myself; " at all events 
 they are at the post ; " and was just pre- 
 paring to leave the room and join my 
 husband and his friend, when a hasty tap 
 at the door was heard, and in response to 
 my invitation in walked Charles Merridew, 
 his face as white as a sheet, and greatly 
 agitated. I guessed the truth at once. 
 
 ' My dear husband was dead ! 
 
 ' He was apparently asleep, and his friend, 
 unwilling to disturb him, was quietly reading 
 at his side, when he suddenly started up into 
 a sitting posture with a strange wild look 
 in his eyes which the actor had never seen 
 before. " Sir Harry wins ! " he screamed. 
 "Sir Harry — " The sentence was never 
 finished. The lips were suddenly tinged 
 with froth and blood ; a slight gurgle in the 
 throat ; and your grandfather fell back dead 
 in the arms of the true friend whom he liked 
 so well. 
 
 'Then the actor went on: "The Chester 
 Cup was put down for half-past three ; poor 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 75 
 
 Ned died at precisely twenty-five minutes 
 past — if known Sir Harry will be dis- 
 qualified ; thousands of poor people all over 
 the country lose their money — ruined. Must 
 not be — off amono- the roses agfain — orreen 
 dressing gown — not a moment to be lost. 
 You stay here and call a servant as witness 
 in case any questions are asked afterwards." 
 ' In three minutes' time the actor was 
 to be seen fussino- about once more in the 
 
 o 
 
 rose garden. He even spoke to an under- 
 gardener. I rang the bell, and the butler 
 appeared. 
 
 ' " Oh, take these letters please, Wickham, 
 and ask your master if he has any for the 
 post ; you'll find him amongst his roses. 
 Oh, and, Wickham, what is the right time, 
 please ? " 
 
 ' " The time is just a quarter to four, 
 ma'am," replied Wickham, consulting his 
 warming pan of a watch. " Chester Cup's 
 all over by this time, ma'am," added Wick- 
 ham with a smirk as he left the room. 
 
 ' I looked out of the window with a beat- 
 ing heart, and saw Wickham go out to his 
 master (as he thought) with my message and 
 return when he had received his answer in 
 the negative to the house. 
 
76 The Green Dressing Gown 
 
 ' Then I went out, and kind Charles 
 Merridew, giving me an arm, led me gently 
 into the presence of the dead. 
 
 ' Hastily removing his wig and whiskers 
 and doffing ths green dressing gown, he was 
 quickly himself again, and then we rang for 
 assistance, and a groom was at once de- 
 spatched for the doctor. 
 
 ' Late that niofht a mounted messenoer 
 arrived with a letter for my husband, sent off 
 by his trainer immediately after the race, to 
 inform him that Sir Harry, after a desperate 
 finish, had got up in the very last stride and 
 won the Chester Cup by a head. 
 
 ' I felt horribly guilty when I heard the 
 news. Would yoii' have felt guilty had you 
 been in my place, my dear ? ' inquired my 
 grandmother, naively turning to me. 
 - ' Well, upon my word, grandmamma,' I 
 replied, ' I don't think I should. Sir Harry 
 was, there is no doubt, a very great public 
 favourite, and a large number of poor people 
 profited and were made happy by his victory, 
 which they certainly would not have been 
 had he been disqualified, and the second — 
 an outsider, wasn't he ? — awarded the race. 
 Oh, there were what the French call decidedly 
 " extenuating" circumstances " — and, yes, I 
 
The Green Dressing Gown 77 
 
 think, dear grandmamma, I should certainly 
 have done the same thing had I been in your 
 place.' 
 
 ' That is exactly what Mr Merridew 
 observed at the time, my dear,' said my 
 grandmother, looking pleased. 
 
 ' And now,' she went on, ' you have listened 
 to my confession, I am sure you will be glad 
 to hear that we did nothing wrong or under- 
 hand after all. For it turned out that we made 
 a mistake as to the hour the Chester Cup was 
 to be run. We thought it was three thirty, 
 whereas it was three o'clock. The horses were 
 sent on their journey precisely at thirteen 
 minutes past three ; your poor grandfather 
 died at twenty-five minutes past : so that the 
 race was over just in time to save the dis- 
 qualification of Sir Harry. There, my dear,' 
 said my grandmother, ' that's my story ; and 
 I hope in the years to come, when I am dead 
 and gone and you take up your abode in the 
 old Manor House, you will occasionally give 
 a passing thought to your poor designing old 
 grandmother and Sir Harry there, and, above 
 all, the Green Dressing Gown.' 
 
The Banker's Marc 
 
THE BANKER'S MARE 
 
 I 
 
 Ask anybody who ever had much to do 
 with Mr Boodle, the well-known banker of 
 Lombard Street — ' Uncle Ned ' as they call 
 him ' on 'Change ' — any one of his employes 
 at the bank, for instance — what manner of 
 man he was, and the answer would be to a 
 certainty, ' One of the best — the very best — 
 though of course rather eccentric, you know.' 
 Put the same question to any of his bank- 
 ing brethren, and the reply would come as 
 pat as possible, ' Mad, sir, mad ! ' Not that 
 they meant to be hard on one whose private 
 worth and commercial status was at least as 
 firmly established as their own, but merely to 
 imply that ' Uncle Ned ' was built on rather 
 different lines to themselves — comported 
 himself, in fact, both at the bank and in 
 private life in a manner hardly consistent (to 
 their thinking) with the dignified nature of 
 his calling. 
 
 F 8i 
 
82 The Banker's Mare 
 
 There was no mistake about it, old Ned 
 Boodle was an oddity of the first water ; 
 there was no saying indeed what he would 
 be up to next. 
 
 Though by no means a tuft-hunter or 
 toady by nature — on the contrary, he would 
 be quite as brusque to a duke as a drayman 
 — one of his fads was to fill his bank with 
 young men of aristocratic lineage. 
 
 (' Some of the best-bred 'uns, sir, in 
 England, in my Lombard Street stable,' he 
 would aver with pride when referring to his 
 swell clerks.) 
 
 And seeing that the salaries he gave were 
 twice as large as those in similar establish- 
 ments, and that he possessed an only 
 daughter, who, besides being remarkably 
 pretty, was looked upon as one of the most 
 desirable ' properties ' to be found just then 
 in the matrimonial market, there was con- 
 siderable excitement amongst the impecunious 
 younger sons of the aristocracy whenever a 
 vacancy occurred in the bank. 
 
 On these occasions Uncle Ned was often 
 very hard put to it to ' pick out the thimble 
 with the pea beneath it,' as he graphically 
 expressed it, and a story is told of him, that 
 once having reduced the number of applicants 
 
The Banker's Mare 83 
 
 — runners, he termed them — to two, the 
 younger son of a duke and an Honourable, he 
 proceeded to go into the important question 
 of character. 
 
 ' Was Lord Adolphus a sportsman ? ' he 
 inquired of the duchess his mother. 
 
 ' That question, my dear Mr Boodle, I 
 can safely answer in the affirmative,' replied 
 his high-born visitor, seeing which way the 
 cat jumped. 'Dolly,' she continued, 'is the 
 very keenest sportsman you can possibly 
 imagine ! Why, he lost fifteen hundred 
 pounds on the Derby, and five hundred on 
 the Oaks — a monkey, he called it — only this 
 year, poor dear boy ! ' 
 
 ' Ah, I didn't mean that quite, duchess,' 
 chuckled the banker ; ' I alluded to shooting, 
 hunting, and fishing, and so forth.' 
 
 And when the duchess went on to say 
 that dear Dolly had broken two ribs and a 
 collar-bone in the hunting-field only last 
 January, and that he was considered an even 
 better shot and fisherman than his father the 
 Duke, acknowledged to be one of the finest 
 ' workmen ' of his time, she knew by the way 
 that Uncle Ned beamed upon her that she 
 had won the day for her impecunious boy. 
 
 ' One more question, duchess, and I have 
 
84 The Banker's Mare 
 
 done,' said the old gentleman: 'Does he 
 bike?' 
 
 ' He hates it — detests the very name of 
 a bicycle ! ' exclaimed the duchess, who had 
 been well primed beforehand, in her most 
 decisive manner. That reply settled the 
 business, for our banker had been knocked 
 head over heels not long before in the 
 Regent's Park by a 'scorcher,' and hated the 
 very mention of the name of a bike in con- 
 sequence — and the Honourable hiked. 
 
 A house in Portman Square, another in 
 Hertfordshire — with a considerable amount 
 of shootinof attached to it — a moor in Scot- 
 land, and a hunting-box at Bletchley, such 
 were the playgrounds of the banker and his 
 daughter Miss Bella ; and it may safely be 
 said that the last-named afforded the pair 
 more pleasure than all the rest put together, 
 for fond as both of them were of all kinds of 
 sport, hunting was the amusement they both 
 swore by. 
 
 A hard man in his salad days, Uncle Ned 
 could still pound away in very respectable 
 fashion, and was always to be found well up 
 in the second flight in a run ; whilst as for 
 his daughter — well, she would go through 
 the form of asking Captain This or Mr That 
 
The Banker's Mare 85 
 
 to pilot her ; but it was generally a case of 
 reversing the order of things, and the lady 
 doing the steering. 
 
 Her father, most hunting days, was in the 
 habit of mounting one of his swell clerks, who 
 could all of them ride a bit, or they wouldn't 
 have found employment in Boodle's Bank ; 
 and one and all of them had done his level 
 best to ride himself into the affections of Miss 
 Bella, which laudable ambition on their part 
 had as yet not met with success. She could 
 ' lose the lot,' as her worthy father said in 
 his usual bluff fashion. 
 
 Now, as we have before observed, the 
 eccentric Mr Boodle was a great stickler for 
 blue blood in his Lombard Street stable, as 
 he jocosely termed the bank, and he was 
 quite as particular with regard to his horses 
 and dogs ; for which we don't blame him in 
 the least. 
 
 ' Putting on one side their performances in 
 the field,' would exclaim the banker, speaking 
 of. thoroughbred horses, 'just look at their 
 manners, sir, look at their manners ! ' And 
 then he would add a rider — ' As a rule, of 
 course.' 
 
 And there again we are with him. Indeed, 
 it was not at all extraordinary that Uncle 
 
86 The Banker's Mare 
 
 Ned should be so enthusiastic on the subject, 
 for so far, in a great measure through luck, 
 with his own good judgment, and that of a 
 clever stud-groom thrown in, he had been 
 wonderfully fortunate in his hunters, who 
 were noted for being just as perfect as they 
 were well bred. Many a good man and true 
 whose nerve was not quite what it should be, 
 and whose means were inadequate to his 
 desires, would eye with envy the banker and 
 his daughter, with perhaps one or two of the 
 former's young men, as they rode up to the 
 meet, each of them mounted on a delightful 
 animal a child might have ridden, and devoutly 
 wish he could exchange the bull-mouthed 
 brute he bestrode for the worst of the banker's 
 lot. 
 
 And now, after all these years, Mr Boodle 
 found himself the possessor of a hunter, or 
 rather huntress, who, as he pathetically put 
 it, was breaking his heart and bringing his 
 grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. This 
 redoubtable animal was a five-year-old 
 chestnut mare, by Blue Blood — Caution, and 
 had been made a present to the banker by 
 one of his oldest customers, none other 
 indeed but that well-known racing baronet, 
 Sir Rowley Miles. Originally christened 
 
The Banker's Mare 87 
 
 ' Beware,' she made her ddmt on the Turf in 
 the One Thousand Guineas at Newmarket, 
 the baronet havino- elected not to run her as 
 a two-year-old. 
 
 On this occasion she was so erratic in 
 her behaviour at the post, rearing, kicking, 
 plunging, and finally bolting out of the course 
 in the actual race, that her jockey, fairly losing 
 his temper, gave her ladyship a good hiding, 
 a mode of treatment which did not suit her at 
 all, for she apparently never forgot it. 
 
 Again and again she ran, but would never 
 try a yard, and finally her owner in disgust 
 ordered his trainer to let her have a shy at 
 the ' sticks,' to see if that would improve her 
 manners. 
 
 But though she jumped like a ' house a-fire ' 
 in private, as the latter worthy said, she de- 
 clined to do so in public. So in despair 
 they turned her out of training, and the 
 baronet not being a hunting man, and 
 having a strong objection to keeping an 
 animal in his stable who couldn't so much 
 as pay for her hay and corn, kindly offered 
 her as a present to his old friend Mr Boodle, 
 who accepted the gift with many thanks, and 
 promptly re-christened the mare ' Lady 
 Threadneedle.' 
 
88 The Banker's Mare 
 
 And very proud he was of her, and with 
 some reason, for there was no denying that 
 her ladyship was as handsome as paint. 
 But when it came to riding her ! ' Du Du ! ' 
 as they say in Wales. 
 
 The mare had not been a fortnight in the 
 banker's hunting stable before she had 
 succeeded in frightening nearly to death the 
 stud-groom, all the helpers, and a rough- 
 rider. 
 
 Then Mr Boodle, in spite of all remon- 
 strance, insisted on riding her with hounds. 
 She had always been used to feather-weights, 
 he said, and his fifteen stone would keep her 
 down, he felt sure. Poor man ! 
 
 She treated Aim like a feather, and before 
 he had been on her back half an hour, for 
 once in his life the plucky old gentleman 
 wished himself back in Lombard Street. 
 
 He wasn't used, he said, to a run across 
 country on his own legs, and in top boots. 
 
 Then the swell clerks had a turn one after 
 the other, finishing up with Lord Adolphus, 
 who was supposed to be the best performer 
 of the lot. Dolly insured himself in the 
 Accidental, primed himself before mounting 
 with a double allowance of orange brandy, 
 and returned from the chase, very much the 
 
The Banker's Mare 89 
 
 worse for wear, in the cart of a benevolent 
 baker. 
 
 Mr Boodle was at his wits' end to know 
 what to do with the mare. 
 
 'Sell her, sir,' advised the superior stud- 
 groom ; ' sell her, sir, before she cuts out 
 work for the crowner.' 
 
 'Sell her,' cried Lord Adolphus and all 
 his fellow bank clerks in unison. 
 
 * Let me ride her, papa,' suggested the 
 fair Bella. 
 
 But Mr Boodle, who as his friends de- 
 clared could be very pig-headed on occasions, 
 turned a deaf ear to all advice on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 ' No,' said he, ' I'll give her one more 
 chance, and only one. 
 
 ' Young Robert Selby, whom I have just 
 appointed to the vacant stool in the bank, is 
 due from Yorkshire the day after to-morrow, 
 and he shall have a " leg up " on my lady ; 
 and if he can't make anything of her, then 
 I'll give it up as a bad job and get rid of the 
 mare. 
 
 ' I am told,' continued the old gentleman, 
 ' that before the family coach came to grief 
 young Bob was one of the crack men with the 
 York and Ainsty, and I can readily believe 
 
90 The Banker's Mare 
 
 it, for his father, when I knew him at Christ 
 Church, was one of the hardest and best men 
 to hounds I ever saw.' 
 
 'Well, I'll back the mare, sir,' observed 
 Lord Adolphus, complacently. 
 
 'And I'll back the man, sir — for a 
 sovereign. Are you on?' inquired the im- 
 petuous old banker, firing up. 
 
 'Watker!' replied his lordship with the 
 air of a man who is betting on a certainty, 
 and knows it. 
 
 Young Bob Selby, very much depressed 
 in spirits, surveying the landscape wistfully 
 from a corner of a third-class carriage in the 
 express from York to London two days later, 
 and wondering within himself when he would 
 be likely to find himself on the top of a horse 
 again, if ever, little knew with what anxiety 
 his arrival in London was looked for. He 
 was due to dine that night in Portman Square, 
 Mr Boodle having invited all the swell clerks 
 to meet him, and considerably astonished was 
 Bob at his reception. 
 
 ' Have you brought your boots and 
 breeches with you ? ' was the first ques- 
 tion the banker put to his guest in a 
 tone of the greatest anxiety. And the 
 answer being in the affirmative, with the 
 
The Banker's Mare 91 
 
 additional item that his wardrobe included 
 the red coat that its sporting owner hardly 
 dared hope ever to don again, the usual 
 inquiries as to the health of his mother and 
 sisters followed in due course. 
 
 Then he was introduced to Miss Bella and 
 his fellow clerks as they dropped in one by one. 
 
 The former he had the honour of taking 
 down to dinner, and fell hopelessly in love 
 with before the fish had disappeared. When, 
 at eleven o'clock, with one of the banker's 
 big cigars in his mouth, Bob left Portman 
 Square to walk off to his temporary lodgings 
 in Jermyn Street, having appointed to meet 
 Mr Boodle and his daughter at Euston 
 Square the following morning for the double 
 purpose of hunting the fox and being intro- 
 duced to ' Lady Threadneedle,' he declared to 
 himself that never, no never, had he ever 
 spent such an agreeable evening. 
 
 ' If I can only manage to get the best of 
 this mare who seems to have got the upper 
 hand with all of 'em,' he thought, ' there's 
 no saying what it mayn't lead to. Hang it 
 all!' he exclaimed aloud, 'old Boodle told me 
 he'd give me anything if I got through a run 
 with her. I wonder if he'd give me his 
 daughter ! ' 
 
92 The Banker's Mare 
 
 'Well, Bella,' said the banker, when, their 
 guests having gone, they were by themselves. 
 ' Well, Bella, and what do you think of my 
 importation from Yorkshire ? ' 
 
 ' I think he's very good-looking — and very 
 nice,' she added, as she kissed her father and 
 wished him good-night with rather more 
 empressement than usual. 
 
 II 
 
 The hunted fox had taken it into his perverse 
 head to cross the River Bubble — the River 
 Bubble full to the brim — and at one of its 
 widest parts. 
 
 The master, the huntsman — everybody — 
 gave it one longing look as the hounds in a 
 body plunged in, and then galloped off to the 
 nearest ford, fully a quarter of a mile off. 
 Everybody, did I say ? Well, all but one 
 man — a well-got-up, curly-haired, good-look- 
 ing young fellow in scarlet, whose dirty coat 
 and crushed hat denoted a recent fall, and 
 whose mount, a thoroughbred chestnut as 
 handsome as paint, evidently wanted to 
 follow the vanishing horsemen in preference 
 
The Banker's Mare 93 
 
 to being pulled up short by her rider within 
 a hundred yards of the river. 
 
 ' They tell me you won't face water, old 
 girl, if you know it,' muttered the latter, ' so 
 if you don't mind we'll have a game at "blind 
 man's bluff," a game invented by myself and 
 played once before with great success on just 
 such another as yourself.' With that, taking 
 a silk handkerchief from his pocket and fold- 
 ing it, he leant forward and tied it over the 
 mare's eyes, fastening each end to the cheek 
 strap on either side. That done, he set her 
 resolutely to the river, increasing his pace as 
 he neared it. 
 
 One mighty splash, and before she knew 
 where she was * Lady Threadneedle ' found 
 herself swimming like an otter in the detested 
 water. Young Bob Selby, for it was he, now 
 removed the bandage, and the next minute 
 they were scrambling up the opposite bank, 
 and galloping off after the hounds, now a 
 good field ahead. 
 
 A momentary check, and the hounds hit 
 off the scent and go off at score again just as 
 Bob gets to them — Bob, intoxicated with 
 delight, for though he has taken his own part 
 in many a good gallop, he has never had the 
 luck to have hounds all to himself until now. 
 
94 The Banker's Mare 
 
 The mare, too, laying herself out in her 
 best style and jumping- like a cat, evidently 
 enjoys the fun as much as her pilot. 
 
 ' What a pity it is the banker and his 
 daughter can't see her ! ' thought Bob. ' The 
 fools didn't understand you,' he said, patting 
 the mare's neck, as the pair landed lightly 
 over a big drop fence and away t'other side 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 'All the same,' muttered Bob, ' this can't 
 last for ever at the pace we're going,' adding, 
 * I wish I knew there was a second horse 
 waiting for me somewhere handy.' 
 
 The words were hardly out of his mouth 
 when a distant halloa made him prick up his 
 ears, and to his delight, on the brow of a hill 
 some three fields off, a little to the right of 
 the line, was a man frantically waving his 
 hat. 
 
 Grasping the situation in a second. Bob 
 called vigorously on ' Lady Threadneedle,' 
 now beofinningf to flaQ- and oettino- alono-side 
 the hounds, proceeded to cap them on to the 
 point. 
 
 ' Vox be just afore ee, dead beat ! ' roared 
 the man, as Bob galloped up. 
 
 ' See, yonder he goes ! ' said he a second 
 later. 
 
The Banker's Mare 95 
 
 Sure enough, there was the fox, crawUng 
 slowly along the brow of the very next field. 
 A tremendous view halloa from Bob is the 
 beginning of the end. The hounds, in the 
 very act of jumping the intervening fence, 
 get a view, and the next instant Tomboy and 
 Traveller, ahead of the pack as usual, were 
 rolling over and over with their victim on the 
 sward. 
 
 ' Who, hoop ! ' screamed Bob, in a voice 
 that might have been heard in the next 
 parish, jumping off ' Lady Threadneedle ' and 
 leaving her to take care of herself, whilst he 
 battled with the hounds for possession of the 
 fox. 
 
 ' Who, hoop ! ' he yelled again at the top 
 of his voice, thinking to himself that unless 
 the master and his followers turned up soon, 
 the hounds, whom he was doing his best to 
 keep at a distance with his whip, would break 
 through his defence and recapture their 
 quarry. At last they hove in sight, and 
 in another minute Bob had handed over the 
 fox to the huntsman, and was receiving the 
 congratulations of the banker and his 
 daughter. 
 
 These were of so hearty a character as to 
 cause Lord Adolphus to declare to his 
 
96 The Banker's Mare 
 
 disappointed brethren at the bank the next 
 day that ' it really made him sick to listen to 
 it all. Positively fulsome, don't cher know,' 
 he added. 
 
 Some idea of the banker's opinion of Bob's 
 performance may be gathered from the 
 following fragments of conversation 'twixt 
 him and his daughter before retiring to rest 
 that same night. 
 
 ' A fine fellow ! A mag;>/zyicent horse- 
 man ! ' exclaimed Mr Boodle, with an accent 
 on the m/. 'That's the sort of man,' he 
 added, ' I should like for a son.' 
 
 * How would you like him for a son-in-law, 
 papa .f* ' demurely murmured Miss Bella. 
 
'My Awful Ma!' 
 
 G 
 
•MY AWFUL MA!' 
 
 I 
 
 The weather was bad, even for November ; 
 business was worse ; and Mr Felix Fogo, 
 * the eminent private detective of Trackham 
 Street, Strand,' was proportionately low 
 spirited. He didn't like the outlook either 
 way, especially with regard to the latter. 
 Could it be that ' Virtue ' was looking 
 up a bit ? Or was it that his pro- 
 fession was ofettino- overcrowded ? He 
 had just lit a cigarette to assist him in 
 thinking the matter out, when the door of 
 his sanctum was suddenly opened, and a 
 card handed to him by his clerk announcing 
 a lady client — at least, it would have been 
 handed to him but for the fair owner un- 
 ceremoniously pushing the clerk on one side 
 and announcing herself. 
 
 A pretty little woman was Mr Fogo's 
 
 99 
 
lOO 'My Awful Ma!' 
 
 visitor, expensively and tastefully dressed 
 in the prevailing mode, and in such a state 
 of mental excitement that she could scarcely 
 speak. The eminent detective scented a 
 rich client as surely as he did the White 
 Rose of Mr Atkinson on the lady's hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 ' Mr Felix Fogo ? ' 
 
 ' At your service, madam,' replied the 
 great man, as, bowing- with courtly grace, 
 he handed his fair client a chair. 
 
 ' I want your advice, possibly assistance, 
 in a most distressing case.' 
 
 Mr Fogo bowed his head, and his face 
 assumed its best sympathetic expression. 
 
 ' My husband — ' 
 
 Mr Fogo's eyebrows went up, his face 
 lengthened perceptibly, his lips tightened 
 with an involuntary drawing in of the 
 breath. 
 
 ' My husband — ' 
 
 * I quite understand, my dear madam.' 
 
 'My h-h-husband — oh! Mister Fogo, 
 read that, and t-t-tell me what you th-th- 
 think of it,' and, so saying, the lady, giving 
 way to a storm of sobs and tears, handed 
 Mr Fogo a letter, which that gentleman 
 at once proceeded to read. It ran thus : — 
 
'My Awful Ma!' loi 
 
 '32 North Street, Park Lane. 
 ^November 14. 
 
 * Dear Jack, — I'll be with you to-morrow 
 night. " Louisa," I suppose, as usual, eh ? — 
 Yours in haste, 'George Lovel.' 
 
 ' Is this your husband's handwriting, Mrs 
 Lovel ? ' asked Mr Fogo. 
 
 ' No-0-0 ; the original letter is gone. This 
 is a copy I made before posting it.' 
 
 ' And you want — ' 
 
 ' To find out who Louisa is, and to obtain 
 a di-i-vorce as quickly as possible.' 
 
 * I have not the slightest doubt, my dear 
 madam,' replied Mr Fogo, 'that I shall be 
 able to ascertain for you who the lady is, 
 and all about her ; though, of course, it will 
 take time. Money no object, I s'pose ? ' 
 
 ' Not the slightest.' 
 
 'That is well. That is as it should be,' 
 observed Mr Fogo, complacently, as he 
 rubbed his hands. 
 
 ' Do you know,' he added, ' I have known 
 many a case sim.ilar to yours fail in the 
 getting up solely through lack of funds to 
 carry it through. No ; it never does to be 
 
 * The innocent game of Loo is occasionally thus 
 styled. 
 
102 'My Awful Ma!' 
 
 niggardly in affairs of this sort, never. Now, 
 as regards divorce. You will excuse me for 
 asking, but has Mr Lovel ever used personal 
 violence to you ? ' 
 
 ' Well, no-o ; I can't say he has, Mr Fogo. 
 He has been exceedingly rude, though, and 
 has threatened me. Oh, yes ; he has dis- 
 tinctly threatened me.' 
 
 * Oh ! he has distinctly threatened you, 
 has he ? On what occasion was it ? Pray 
 tell me all about it.' Mr Fogo here produced 
 a large sheet of paper, and proceeded to 
 take notes. 
 
 * It was e-early one morning — six o'clock, 
 I think — and I wo-oke him up, and begged 
 him to go to early matins with me at St 
 Ethelbert's, c-close by.' 
 
 ' And he wouldn't ! ' 
 
 ' No-o, he said he would see St Ethelbert's 
 d-d-eed first, and me-ee too, and if I woke 
 him up again he'd pitch into me with a 
 h-hair brush.' 
 
 * Terrible, indeed,' said Mr Fogo, shaking 
 his head solemnly. ' I am not at all sure, 
 do you know, Mrs Lovel, that such a threat 
 as you say your husband made use of would 
 not, of itself, constitute an act of cruelty, in 
 which case, of course, you would have no 
 
'My Awful Ma!' 103 
 
 difficulty in obtaining a divorce. That, 
 however, we should take counsel's opinion 
 about. And now, before you leave, I should 
 just like to ask my head clerk, whose opinion 
 I set the greatest store by, what he thinks 
 of this most compromising letter of your 
 husband's.' 
 
 Mr Fogo leant back in his chair as he 
 spoke, and applying his mouth to the 
 speaking tube behind him, bade them ' Send 
 Mr Nix to me.' 
 
 The next instant and there stepped briskly 
 into the room in answer to the summons a 
 little dapper, smartly-dressed man of about 
 forty, whose fan beard and sharp, perky 
 manner would of themselves have pro- 
 claimed the thoroughbred cockney, had he 
 not opened his mouth, who, bowing elabor- 
 ately to the lady, struck an easy attitude 
 and waited developments. 
 
 ' Oh, Mr Nix,' said his employer, ' I wish 
 you to just glance at this letter ' — handing 
 the missive to him as he spoke — 'and tell 
 me what you think of it.' 
 
 ' Mr Lovel is this lady's husband, of 
 
 course ? ' inquired Mr Nix, in an off-hand 
 
 manner, when he had finished the perusal. 
 
 ' Of course,' replied Mr Fogo, adding, ' It 
 
104 '^y Awful Ma!' 
 
 reveals a terrible state of things, don't you 
 think so ? ' 
 
 ' Shockinof ! ' ag-reed his lieutenant. 
 
 ' Pray, have you any idea who Louisa may 
 be, madam ? ' he asked, turning to Mrs 
 Lovel. 
 
 ' If I had, I should not be here,' replied 
 that lady with asperity. 
 
 ' True, very true. For a ready answer 
 commend me to a lady,' observed Mr Nix, 
 pleasantly, turning an admiring glance at his 
 employer's fair client. 
 
 'You must find out, Nix,' exclaimed Mr 
 Fogo, with an emphatic bang of his much- 
 be-rinofed hand on the table. 
 
 ' It will give me pleasure, mingled, of 
 course, with pain, to do so, sir,' replied his 
 factotum, with a confident air, as much as 
 to say, ' Leave it to me and you may consider 
 it done.' 
 
 A few more questions asked, a photograph 
 of the erring Mr Lovel left in Mr Fogo's 
 possession, together with a cheque on ac- 
 count, and the injured client, shown out with 
 much form and ceremony by Messrs Fogo 
 and Nix, took her departure. 
 
'My Awful Ma!' 105 
 
 II 
 
 Winter had disappeared, and spring was 
 just thinking of abdicating in favour of 
 summer, and little Mrs Lovel, tired of draw- 
 ing cheques, had at last put her foot down 
 and told Mr Felix Fogo pretty plainly that 
 unless he succeeded in finding out Mr 
 Lovel's Louisa at once, if not sooner, she 
 had no alternative but to either let the affair 
 slide altogether, or to apply for assistance 
 and advice elsewhere. She did not really 
 want to give up the chase, for it was excit- 
 ing, and she liked excitement. 
 
 Neither did Mr Fogo, for its continuation 
 meant money in his pocket, and he was 
 particularly partial to money. 
 
 Messrs Fogo and Nix put their heads 
 together. ' Wont he go wrong ? ' inquired 
 the great man of his lieutenant. 
 
 ' No,' went on Mr Nix ; ' I've dogged Mr 
 L. from his 'ouse to his club, and his club to 
 his 'ouse, and here, there and everywhere, 
 and I can't bring anything home to him for 
 the life of me — not without perjuring myself, 
 that is,' he added. 
 
 Mr Fogo was in despair. He was 
 
io6 'My Awful Ma!' 
 
 seriously thinking of getting one good big 
 cheque out of his fair client, and then throw- 
 ing her over for good and all, when one fine 
 morning towards the end of May Mrs Lovel 
 burst unexpectedly into the office in a great 
 state of excitement. 
 
 * George is going to the Derby ! ' she 
 gasped. 
 
 * You don't say so ? ' exclaimed Mr Fogo, 
 as if it was a most extraordinary thing to do. 
 
 ' Yes, he has told me so, and with some- 
 body — he won't tell me who,' went on Mrs 
 Lovel. 
 
 ' Don't say any more, my dear madam, 
 don't say any more, for my own credit's 
 sake,' exclaimed Mr Fogo, with an im- 
 pressive look at his fair client. ' To-day is 
 Saturday; the Derby is run on Wednesday 
 next, and on the following day Louisa shall 
 be delivered into your hands, or I will never 
 undertake a private inquiry case again. Not 
 only is my reputation at stake, but Mr Nix 
 has paid so many fines for using bad 
 lanofuaore — half-a-crown an oath is the rule 
 in this establishment — that Mrs Nix, one of 
 the most domesticated females I ever came 
 across, has called personally to inquire if I 
 want to break up her happy home. Not 
 
'My Awful Ma!' 107 
 
 another word, my dear madam,' repeated Mr 
 Fogo. ' Kindly call here the day after the 
 Derby, and if the pair of us — that is, Mr Nix 
 and myself — don't have some good news for 
 you, tidings of comfort and joy in fact, why, 
 I'm one Dutchman and Mr Nix is another.' 
 
 Ill 
 
 ' Yes, we went to the Derby, my trusty 
 Kodak and I, my dear madam,' said Mr 
 Joseph Nix on the day following that great 
 event, when, true to appointment, Mrs Lovel 
 arrived at the office in Trackham Street, 
 ' and if you will kindly listen to the list of 
 living pictures I succeeded in taking, I think 
 you will be both pleased and shocked — a 
 combination, my dear madam, unfortunately 
 not to be avoided in our business. I may 
 add that I am expecting momentarily the 
 proofs from the photographers, but in the 
 meanwhile we will anticipate the artist, if 
 you don't mind.' 
 
 Nitmber One. — Mr Lovel at the door of 
 Louisa's residence in Half Moon Street, 
 Piccadilly, handing his inamorata (Mr Nix 
 pronounced it ' inamoratter ') into a hansom 
 
io8 'My Awful Ma!' 
 
 cab — a very smart cab, madam, with all the 
 latest improvements, with a first-class horse 
 between the sharves, and an extra smart and 
 particularly impudent person on the box, 
 who, noticing me busy in his direction with 
 my Kodak, was good enough to ask me who 
 the devil I took him for. 
 
 Number Tzvo. — Entrance to the Paddock, 
 Epsom Downs. Mr Lovel and his in- 
 amoratter having a brush down at the hands 
 of one of the scum of the course without a 
 coat. 
 
 Number Three. — The interior of the 
 Paddock. Mr Lovel and his inamoratter 
 looking in vain for Persimmon — which 
 gallant steed, I should imagine by her 
 demeanour, the lady had backed. 
 
 Number Four. — The Hill after the race. 
 Mr Lovel and his inamoratter partaking of 
 luncheon on the top of a drag — that belong- 
 ing to the 109th Lancers, one of the fastest 
 reofiments in the service, I am told. 
 
 Number Five. — The Return. Mr Lovel 
 and his inamoratter alighting at the Cock at 
 Sutton for a cup of tea. 
 
 Number Six {and last). — The arrival at 
 the house in Half Moon Street. Mr Lovel 
 and Louisa indulging in a loving kiss on 
 
'My Awful Ma!' 109 
 
 the doorstep ere the former takes his 
 departure. 
 
 ' That is the Hst, madam,' said Mr Nix, 
 ' and here, I fancy ' — a clerk entered at this 
 moment and placed a packet in his hand — 
 ' are the photographs to speak for them- 
 selves.' 
 
 'Yes! here they are ! ' He handed them 
 to Mrs Lovel as he spoke. One glance was 
 sufficient. An exclamation of surprise 
 mingled with disappointment escaped the 
 injured lady as she threw the photographs 
 on the floor and stamped upon them. 
 
 ' Do you know who Louisa is, you stupid, 
 stupid man ? ' she shrieked. 
 
 ' Well, no, I can't say I do,' replied the 
 startled Mr Nix. 
 
 'Then I will tell you,' she cried. ' It is 
 my mother, my bad, wicked, frivolous mother 
 — my mother, who I have heard boast that 
 she once went to Confessional in the morning 
 and Cremorne in the evening, and is now 
 doing her best to lead my wretched husband 
 astray ! ' 
 
 Mr Felix Fogo, who had as yet been a 
 silent witness to the proceedings, now rose 
 from his chair and came forward. 
 
 ' Mrs Lovel,' he said, ' allow me to con- 
 
no *My Awful Ma!' 
 
 gratulate you on the possession of the best 
 husband in the world. A man, my dear 
 madam, who will escort his mother-in-law to 
 the Derby, may, in the language of our 
 evangelistic friends, be considered as 
 "Saved."' 
 
Standing in with the Stable 
 
STANDING IN WITH THE STABLE 
 
 It is all very well for Dives, revelling in 
 purple and fine linen and faring sumptuously 
 every day, with everything about him calcu- 
 lated to make life pleasant, to sit in his arm- 
 chair and talk in a grandiloquent way about 
 the cowardice of the suicide. 
 
 If Dives had been in my shoes on a certain 
 night in the merry month of May, some few 
 years ago, and felt the pangs of hunger as 
 I felt them, I fancy somehow he would be 
 strongly inclined to modify his opinions. 
 
 Hungry ? I was hungry ! And when at 
 two o'clock in the morning, having tramped 
 it from Cambridge, I flung myself down on 
 the grass just outside the grand stand on 
 Newmarket Heath, I felt so utterly done up, 
 faint and exhausted, that I would have 
 gladly welcomed death in any shape or form 
 at that moment. 
 
 Well born, and my early days passed in 
 the lap of luxury, there I lay like a dog, 
 II 113 
 
114 Standing in with the Stable 
 
 hungry (I had neither had bite nor sup for 
 twenty-four hours) with no money to buy 
 food, and without a friend or relative in the 
 world to lend me a helping- hand ; and yet 
 Dives and his friends would have called me 
 a coward had I put an end to my wretched 
 existence. 
 
 It was lucky that I had not the means to 
 do so — not even a pocket-knife — that 
 memorable May night, otherwise the trainers 
 when they came on to the Heath with their 
 horses in the early morning would have 
 assuredly found something that they would 
 not have cared about looking at twice. 
 
 Bodily exhaustion, as a rule, produces sleep, 
 but very often, if it is too pronounced, it has a 
 precisely opposite effect. So it proved in my 
 case. Faint and weary as I was, the repose 
 I so much needed flatly declined to come to 
 my rescue. 
 
 So I lay awake, thinking, thinking — always 
 thinking ; now of the past, now of the future 
 — for I was still young, and down-trodden 
 as I was, still capable of building castles in 
 the air. 
 
 It was one of these palatial edifices I 
 found myself building now, odd though it 
 may seem. 
 
Standing in with the Stable 115 
 
 One of the trainers at the headquarters of 
 the Turf had taken me up and given me a 
 position of trust in his estabhshment. One 
 of our horses had won the Cesarewitch and 
 Cambridgeshire, and I, beside 'standing in' 
 with the stable when they backed him, had 
 won a small fortune by supporting him, at 
 long odds, for the double event on my own 
 account. The whole thing seemed so real 
 that I felt for the moment quite buoyant and 
 happy, and should in all probability have 
 shortly gone off into a tranquil doze, when 
 all of a sudden, the sound of human voices 
 in the distance and the unmistakable tramp 
 of horses' feet fell upon my ear. It would not 
 be daylight for at least an hour yet. Who 
 could they be ? 
 
 Now, I was well versed in Turf matters — 
 in fact, the speak to truth, it was in a great 
 measure my partiality for the Sport of Kings 
 that had brought me to the position I found 
 myself in ; consequently on bringing my mind 
 to bear on the subject, I very quickly solved 
 the riddle — or thought I had, at all events. 
 Yes, I had, I felt sure. 
 
 The only possible excuse for a trainer 
 coming with his horses on to the Heath at 
 this hour of the morning was to bring off a 
 
1 1 6 Standing in with the Stable 
 
 trial, and what was more, a very important 
 one. 
 
 The time of year, too, just ten days before 
 the Derby, was all in favour of my theory. 
 Yes, it was a Derby trial that was coming off, 
 I felt convinced, and what was more I meant 
 to witness it. 
 
 How I chuckled to myself as I crawled 
 along- the grass like a snake until I reached 
 the rear of the stand, well out of sight, when 
 I ventured to peep out. 
 
 There, standing exactly opposite the race- 
 course itself, were five horsemen. One I 
 recognised immediately, dark as it was, as a 
 well-known trainer who had a prominent 
 Derby favourite under his charge ; the other 
 four, three of whom were mounted on 
 thoroughbreds, hooded and clothed, were 
 evidently jockeys. 
 
 The morning was still, and I could hear 
 every word the trainer uttered. 
 
 ' You know what to do now, don't you ? * 
 said he, addressing a jockey who was astride 
 a chestnut with two white hind legs. ' Frank 
 will make the pace as hot as he can with the 
 old horse, and if you can hold him all the 
 way on the young un, and beat him at the 
 finish, or even run him close, the Derby's all 
 
Standing in with the Stable i r 7 
 
 over but shouting. So now cut away, my 
 lads, down to the starting post. I'll stop 
 here, exactly opposite the judge's box, and 
 Bob Joyce will start you.' 
 
 Not another word was said. The trainer 
 took up his position, the others cantered 
 away down the course, and last, but not 
 least, I crawled on all fours from my hiding- 
 place, and crept along under cover of the 
 darkness until I had taken the trainer in 
 flank. 
 
 He was in front of the judge's box ; I was 
 just beside it. 
 
 That was the only difference between 
 us. 
 
 A faint yellow light just appeared on the 
 horizon, denoting that daylight would soon 
 be with us, when a slight noise in the dis- 
 tance caused his cob to prick his ears and 
 the trainer to turn his head sharp to the left, 
 and peer into the darkness. 
 
 ' They're off ! ' I heard him exclaim, as the 
 sound of horses galloping could now be 
 plainly heard. 
 
 On they came nearer and nearer. 
 
 Crack, went a whip. Someone was calling 
 on his horse for an effort. 
 
 The next instant the three horses flashed 
 
ii8 Standing in with the Stable 
 
 past us ; the chestnut with the white hind 
 legs first. 
 
 The trainer gave his thigh a triumphant 
 smack, as he exclaimed, ' By the Lord 
 Harry, but he's a stone better than I 
 thought he was ! ' 
 
 Now was my time for action, and I seized 
 it. 
 
 ' I congratulate you, Mr Snaffle,' was all 
 I said. 
 
 Short speech as it was, it was quite 
 enough to nearly make the trainer tumble 
 off his horse with astonishment. 
 
 ' W-w-where did you come from — and 
 what business have you here ?' he stammered, 
 grasping his hunting whip at the same time 
 in rather an ominous manner. 
 
 ' Never mind, sir, where I came from,' re- 
 plied I, coolly, 'but I don't in the least mind 
 telling you my business on the Heath this 
 morning. 
 
 ' I came here expressly to see the Butter- 
 fly Colt put through the mill for the Derby, 
 and I congratulate you, now I have wit- 
 nessed it, on having such a good horse in 
 your stable. Good morning, Mr Snaffle.' 
 
 ' Here, not so fast ! ' exclaimed the trainer. 
 ' I'm not going to let you go like this. Come, 
 
Standing in with the Stable 119 
 
 you don't look quite so well to do in the 
 world as you might ; what will you take to 
 come to my house straight away and remain 
 there until, say four o'clock this afternoon ? 
 After that I'll give you leave to go away and 
 tell all about the trial to everyone you meet. 
 Will you take five hundred ? ' 
 
 ' Down on the nail, and the promise of 
 another monkey if the Butterfly Colt wins 
 the Derby and I'm on,' was my reply. 
 
 ' Done ! ' said the trainer, holding out his 
 hand for me to shake. ' Don't say a word 
 to the others,' he whispered, ' but come along 
 with me at once.' 
 
 I was in no hurry to leave the worthy man, 
 as the reader may guess ; on the contrary, no 
 leech was ever more anxious to cling to a 
 human body than I was to him, had he known. 
 I accordingly hung on to the trainer's stirrup 
 and trotted by his side as he went off to join 
 the horses, who had now pulled up and were 
 waiting for him. 
 
 Silence was the order of the day, but 
 there was a very satisfied look on every- 
 body's face that spoke more eloquently than 
 words, as the order for ' march ' being given 
 the small troop of cavalry, Mr Snaffle and 
 myself taking up the rear, moved off towards 
 
I20 Standing in with the Stable 
 
 the 'top o' the town,' where the trainer's 
 stables were situated. 
 
 That worthy did not want to lose sight of 
 me, it was very evident ; for no sooner had 
 he jumped off his hack and handed it to a 
 lad than, seizing me by the arm, he said, 
 * Now, my man, come into the house and let 
 you and I have a talk.' 
 
 The jockeys, who by this time had dis- 
 mounted, seemed rather astonished as they 
 glanced somewhat contemptuously at my 
 general get-up and appearance, which I need 
 scarcely say had been allowed to run to seed 
 terribly of late, but whatever their thoughts 
 were they took care not to express them. 
 
 You see they know how to hold their 
 tongues at Newmarket. 
 
 My story is done. Suffice it to say that 
 whilst I was in his house, on parole as it 
 were, the trainer ' did ' me uncommonly well 
 — the breakfast I ate that morning was a 
 caution — and kept his word to the letter as 
 to monetary arrangements. 
 
 After all, said and done, the sum I was 
 paid for holding my tongue was not a penny 
 too much, for the large commission that was 
 worked that very morning all over London 
 could never have been executed at the ofood 
 
Standing in with the Stable 121 
 
 price it was had I chosen to open my 
 mouth. 
 
 However, as long as I was satisfied that 
 was all that was necessary. 
 
 The Butterfly Colt won the Derby, and as 
 I had backed him on my own account for 
 a cool hundred, beside the 'monkey' to 
 nothing I was put on by the stable, I felt 
 remarkably comfortable when settling day 
 arrived. 
 
 I invested my winnings in a share in a 
 S.P. book in a manufacturing town in the 
 Midlands, and a very profitable concern it 
 is ; so profitable, indeed, that I rarely if ever 
 back one now. 
 
 If I do, it is one in my old friend Snafifle's 
 stable, you may depend. 
 
An Imperial Yeoman 
 
AN IMPERIAL YEOMAN 
 
 Of all the counties in England down with 
 war fever, not one was suffering from a more 
 pronounced form of the disease than Barley- 
 mowshire — quiet, phlegmatic Barleymow- 
 shire. 
 
 The usual Christmas festivities were 
 abandoned by general consent in favour of 
 entertainments for the benefit of those the 
 absent-minded Tommy Atkins had left be- 
 hind him — the pheasants had quite a good 
 time of it, owing to the desultory manner 
 the covert shooting was carried on, whilst as 
 for the hounds they only hunted two days 
 a week instead of four, and that with diffi- 
 culty, owing to the heavy drain on the hunt 
 horses by the Government, a state of things 
 not at all to the liking of Tom Trotter the 
 huntsman, who, whilst yielding to no one 
 in the desire for the British army to be 
 victorious, or, as he expressed it, ' to see 
 them narsty Boers get a dom'd good dressin' 
 down,' still, for all that, liked to be well 
 125 
 
126 An Imperial Yeoman 
 
 mounted when in pursuit of the fox, a 
 luxury he seemed likely to be a stranger to 
 for some time to come, thanks to the trouble 
 in South Africa. 
 
 And of all the houses in this loyal county 
 we have mentioned, not one, in racing 
 parlance, could have given an ounce of 
 weight away as regards patriotism to that 
 inhabited by our friends the Chipperfield 
 Greenes of Splash Park. 
 
 ' Chip,' as the proprietor of the establish- 
 ment was generally called, was a quiet, 
 unassuming little gentleman of a retiring dis- 
 position and as shy as they make 'em, and 
 one of those who, however strong his feel- 
 ings might be — and he hated the Boers fully 
 as much as the rest of us — would probably, 
 if left to his own devices, have kept his feel- 
 ings very much to himself. 
 
 Not so his spouse, who, being a lady 
 decidedly of the go-ahead order, made up 
 for any deficiencies on that score on her 
 husband's part. 
 
 Here at last was, she said to herself, an 
 opportunity which might never come again 
 of coming to the front, and she determined 
 to make use of it to its fullest extent. 
 
 Needless to say that in this laudable 
 
An Imperial Yeoman 127 
 
 determination the admirable fund for the 
 widows and orphans of those killed in the 
 war, promoted by the Daily Telegraph, 
 always to the fore in cases of this sort, 
 proved of the greatest service to her. 
 
 Hardly a day passed indeed without 
 mention of Splash Park or some of its 
 inmates appearing in the well-known column, 
 until at last its numerous readers began to 
 ask themselves, Who are these wonderful 
 people the Chipperfield Greenes, and where 
 is Splash Park ? 
 
 The professional beggar writers, you may 
 be sure, made a note of the name with a 
 view to the future, an appeal as things were 
 at present being, as none knew better than 
 themselves, worse than useless. 
 
 We regret to say that amongst the neigh- 
 bours the efforts of Mrs Chipperfield 
 Greene in the sacred cause of notoriety — 
 ten thousand pardons ! we should have said 
 patriotism — were viewed with a considerable 
 amount of amusement, tempered, of course, 
 with admiration ; and nowhere did the former 
 feeling prevail more strongly than in the 
 servants' hall at 'the Splasheries,' as the 
 profane called Splash Park, where the 
 'goings on,' as they termed it, of their 
 
128 An Imperial Yeoman 
 
 mistress proved a perpetual source of hilarity 
 at meal times to its irreverent inmates. The 
 reader can imagine the members of the in- 
 quisition in question assembled at dinner, 
 the while they discussed with much anima- 
 tion a grand entertainment in aid of the 
 war fund which had taken place the night 
 before at the Town Hall at Plumperton ; 
 the footman (being the only one of the 
 party who had been present) finding himself 
 fairly beset with inquiries as to what went 
 on and how it went off, so much so that he 
 found it a hard matter, as he feelingly 
 observed, to get a bit of food in edgeways. 
 Especially anxious were they to know how 
 their mistress got on with * The Absent- 
 minded Beggar,' which she had been set 
 down to recite, and which was to be the 
 feature of the evening's entertainment. 
 
 "Ow did missis' get on,' replied Robert. 
 ' 'Ere, just wait till I've swallered this bit of 
 pie or I shall explode, I raly shall at the 
 bare recollection oft. Comin' on in karky 
 was all right, and so was the recitation — 
 that old voice of hers filled the 'all, I can 
 tell yer — but when it came to bringing on 
 the three lads as well, and pointin' to 'em, 
 one by one, when she comes to " Dook's 
 
An Imperial Yeoman 129 
 
 son, Cook's son, son of a Belted Hurl " — 
 well, it was a bit too pater-iotic — excuse 
 the pun — for everybody, and the effect on 
 the audience, as the papers say, was magical. 
 Affected ! why, there wasn't a dry heye in 
 the 'ouse. They was all in such fits of 
 laughter, in fact, that blessed if I didn't 
 think some of 'em would be hill.' 
 
 'And 'ow did "Chip" take it?' inquired 
 the butler. 
 
 ' Well,' was the reply, ' I couldn't see him 
 from where I was, but I should imagine the 
 pore man laughed the wrong side of his 
 mouth. I should, I know, if I 'ad bin 
 'im. 
 
 'But,' continued Robert, 'when I was 
 a-standin' in the vestibule afterwards with 
 the wraps, waitin' for the carriage, old 
 Admiral Hawser comes up to him and says 
 in a voice loud enough to be heard all over 
 the place, givin' 'im a slap on the back at 
 the same time as nearly knocked the breath 
 out of his body, " Hello, Greene, my 'earty," 
 he says, " we shall 'ear of you appealin' to 
 Sir Francis June before long, if the missis 
 goes on letting the cat out of the bag like 
 she did just now ! " Wkat ! And everybody 
 laughed, as well they might, and pore little 
 
 I 
 
130 An Imperial Yeoman 
 
 Chip looked as if he'd Hke to creep into the 
 nearest mouse 'ole. 
 
 'And then,' continued Robert, 'along comes 
 missis, and the wicked old rascal of a 
 Hadmiral turns round and begins compli- 
 mentin' her to that extent — saying how the 
 finest hactress in the land, not even Helling 
 Terry or Mrs Patrick Campbell could have 
 done it better, or arf so well indeed, and 
 haskin' of 'er which of her three young 
 shavers was the son of the Belted Hurl, 
 etcetrer. And,' wound up Robert, ' not- 
 withstanding the titterin' goin' on all round 
 her, do you think she twigged for a moment 
 what the Hadmiral was a-drivin' at? Not she!' 
 
 ' Heaten up with her own conceit most 
 likely,' surmised the head housemaid with a 
 toss of her head. 
 
 ' Brayvo, Mary, you've 'it it in once, I 
 do believe ! ' exclaimed Robert, admiringly. 
 
 Then the butler took up the running. 
 
 ' You should 'ave 'eard 'er the other 
 morning,' said he, 'dictating a letter to 
 Halfred to send to the Telegraph as if it 
 come from 'im spontaneous. My word ! it 
 was as good as a play. 
 
 ' " ' Dear Mr Editor.' 'Ave you got that, 
 Halfred.'^" she says. 
 
An Imperial Yeoman 131 
 
 '"Yes, ma." 
 
 ' " Then go on. ' I'm only a little feller — ' " 
 
 ' " But I'm not a little feller, ma," objects 
 Halfred, beginning to whine. 
 
 ' " Never mind, you naughty boy," says ma ; 
 *' you just put what I tell you or you sha'n't 
 come down to dessert to-night." 
 
 ' And poor Halfred thought of the pre- 
 served ginger, and just wrote what she told 
 him, and a nice letter it was, as you saw. 
 Talk about "kid"- — oh, my!' 
 
 But Mrs Chipperfield Greene's peculiar 
 rendering of ' The Absent-minded Beggar,' 
 and Master Alfred's touching, original (?) little 
 letter to the Telegraph faded into insignifi- 
 cance when, a few days later, Robert came 
 downstairs with the startling intelligence that 
 master, who held a commission in the Barley- 
 mowshire Yeomanry, had volunteered to go 
 to the front with his troop, and would sail 
 for South Africa in three weeks' time. 
 
 ' Missis's doin' for a 'undred ! ' remarked 
 the butler. 
 
 ' You may take your Bible oath to that,' 
 agreed the footman. 
 
 And such proved to be the case. 
 
 Mrs Chipperfield Greene, driving into 
 Muddleborough to do some shopping, had just 
 
132 An Imperial Yeoman 
 
 alighted from the carriage at Messrs Frippery 
 & Flummery's well-known drapery establish- 
 ment in the High Street, when who should she 
 run up against but one of her ' pet boys/ as 
 she called them — the one she favoured most 
 indeed — in the person of that lively young 
 baronet, Sir Reginald Rattlepate, one of the 
 great men in the county and a lieutenant in 
 her husband's troop in the Yeomanry. 
 
 The baronet was delighted to see her. 
 Had she heard the news ? Lord Bartlingdon, 
 the colonel of the Yeomanry, had called for 
 volunteers for the front, and half the regiment 
 had volunteered to go, including himself. 
 
 ' Will Chip join us ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Of course he will ! ' was the prompt 
 reply. 
 
 ' Then I may include him in the list.'*' 
 
 ' Most certainly.' 
 
 Two hours later Mr Chipperfield Greene, 
 comfortably dozing over a novel in his 
 smoking-room, was roused by his energetic 
 wife walking hurriedly into the room. 
 
 ' Alfred,' she cried, ' write and order your- 
 self a suit of kharki at once. I ' ve volunteered 
 for you to go to the front with the Yeomanry, 
 and you'll sail for South Africa in three 
 
An Imperial Yeoman 133 
 
 weeks' time. My Imperial Yeoman, kiss 
 me ! ' 
 
 They went out hunting together the next 
 day, and it was really touching to see the pride 
 Mrs Chip took in her husband. 
 
 * Yes, I am so glad he's going, though 
 really it is but his duty,' she told everybody, 
 adding, as she pointed to her miserable 
 husband, ' Perhaps dear Alfred does not 
 show it, but you can't think how he is looking 
 forward to it all.' 
 
 And she was quite right : to look at him 
 you would not have thought it. 
 
Getting at the Curate 
 
GETTING AT THE CURATE 
 
 It was a very great trial, of that there could 
 be no question, and if no mistake had been 
 made — and there was no reason to imagine 
 for a moment that there had — then the Grand 
 National was all over, ' bar accidents ' — a 
 clause that it is always wisest to include 
 where a steeplechase is concerned. 
 
 Dick Brabazon — Squire Dick, as he was 
 generally called — why, goodness knows, 
 seeing that squires are plentiful enough 
 amongst us as a rule — had had a fearful time 
 of it, racing, the previous year, with his 
 comparatively small string of horses, and 
 he now had some hopes of replenishing his 
 empty coffers with the aid of a certain five- 
 year-old called Rataplan, by The Drummer, 
 who, like many a good horse before him, 
 having been an utter failure on the flat, 
 had been put to the jumping business, to 
 which he had taken so kindly as to induce 
 his owner to enter him for the oreat event 
 
 137 
 
138 Getting at the Curate 
 
 at Liverpool. His training had commenced 
 at Newmarket, where the rest of Dick's 
 horses were located, but six weeks before 
 the race Rataplan was removed to his 
 owner's place in the Midlands, there to finish 
 his preparation under the care of Markham, 
 the stud-groom, in company with a couple 
 more jumpers of more moderate calibre 
 belonging to the Squire. Apportioned the 
 nice weight of ten stone three pounds by the 
 handicapper in the Liverpool, there was 
 nothing to complain about on that score. 
 ' Tiny Tim ' of the Lancers, quite the best 
 of the soldiers, had promised to ride, and 
 now he had been tried over four miles and 
 a half of stiff country with the two stable 
 companions before mentioned and a veteran 
 steeplechaser borrowed for the occasion 
 from a neighbouring stable ; whilst to make 
 the task yet more severe, two of the squire's 
 best hunters jumped in, and brought him 
 along for the last mile and a half 
 
 Rataplan did, indeed, astonish everybody 
 concerned. Not only did he jump to per- 
 fection, going as straight as a die all the 
 time, but he made common hacks of all the 
 trial horses, with the exception of the two 
 hunters, and even these, fresh as they were, 
 
Getting at the Curate 139 
 
 had to put their best legs foremost to keep 
 on good terms with him. Never was such 
 a trial seen. 
 
 'Dick, my boy,' exclaimed 'Tiny Tim,' 
 as he pulled up by the Squire's side breathless 
 and exultant, ' you've got a real good 'un 
 this time, and no mistake — the best / ever 
 was on, I'll take my oath, and I shall win 
 my first Liverpool as sure as a gun next 
 month. And don't forget,' added the 
 gallant officer as he prepared to dismount, 
 ' I'll stand in a monkey, mind, both ways, 
 with the stable commission.' 
 
 ' As much as ever you like, my dear 
 fellow. I shall go for the gloves this time, 
 you may depend ! ' replied Squire Dick, as 
 he too jumped off his horse, and proceeded 
 with a face beaming with pride and joy to 
 pat Rataplan and make much of him. 
 
 Then Markham, staidest of stud-grooms, 
 had his little say, uttered in his most im- 
 pressive manner, and very much to the point 
 as usual. 
 
 ' We must keep this here affair very dark, 
 gentlemen, if the money is to be got on as 
 you would wish.' 
 
 ' Right you are, says Moses ! ' laughed 
 back ' Tiny Tim,' who by this time had 
 
140 Getting at the Curate 
 
 mounted his hack. ' We'll keep it dark, 
 Markham, you may depend — dark as night, 
 and make our fortunes, yours included, see 
 if we don't.' 
 
 ' I quite agree,' said Squire Dick. ' Not 
 a word to a living soul, mind, Tiny.' 
 
 ' Not a syllable,' replied that eminent 
 jockey, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 ' Mum's the word with me, you may 
 depend, gentlemen,' added Markham, as he 
 gave a small stable boy the leg up on 
 Rataplan previous to making a start for 
 home. 
 
 And what a cheerful ride it was ! Squire 
 Dick and ' Tiny Tim ' laughing and cracking 
 jokes the whole of the time, and old Markham 
 riding just behind, listening with a grim smile 
 of approval. 
 
 Their way homewards lay through a 
 series of bridle gates, and the only person 
 they met en route was the curate of Squire 
 Dick's parish, a mild youth named Lovel, 
 returning home to an early dinner at his 
 lodgings after a round of visits amongst 
 some of his farmer parishioners. Even he 
 could not but notice the jubilant look on the 
 faces of the Squire and ' Tiny Tim,' and was 
 bold enough to say so. * Tiny Tim,' with an 
 
Getting at the Curate 141 
 
 innocent air, declared that they had been 
 playing a game at hare and hounds, he him- 
 self taking the part of the hare. 
 
 ' Look cheerful, do I ? ' said Tiny with a 
 grin ; ' well, I shouldn't wonder if I did, 
 dontcherknow, for I bet our mutual friend 
 Dick here a fiver he'd never catch me, 
 and I landed my money for once in a 
 way.' 
 
 ' Wonder if he swallowed that,' observed 
 Dick, as the curate went on his way. 
 
 'Can't say,' replied Tiny. 'Always mis- 
 trust those extra innocent-lookino- coves 
 somehow, and I fancied I detected a quiver 
 in our black-coated friend's left eyelid, as if 
 he had some difficulty in keeping a wink in 
 when I talked about the hare. I did 
 really. 
 
 ' By the way, Dick,' he added, 'didn't you 
 tell me he was some relation of Lovel of the 
 Blues — Lord Lovel as they call him in the 
 regiment ? ' 
 
 ' Own brother, that's all,' was the 
 reply. 
 
 ' The devil he is ! ' exclaimed ' Tiny Tim.' 
 ' Then all I can say is it behoves us to 
 "'ware curate," if we want to capture the 
 long odds about Rataplan for the National, 
 
142 Getting at the Curate 
 
 for Lord Lovel is one of the deadest sharps 
 out, and if he winds the good thing — and he's 
 got a rare nose for that sort of thing — why, 
 good-bye to our chance of getting on at a 
 fair price. Besides,' added Tiny, ' I hate 
 the fellow, and what is more, he hates me, 
 and nothing would please him better than to 
 take the cream of the market and leave us 
 the skim milk. 
 
 ' Hang it,' exclaimed the little man, 
 ' if such a thing did happen I should feel 
 inclined to pull Rataplan's head off rather 
 than play into the hands of a chap like 
 that.' 
 
 The Squire, ' Tiny Tim ' and Co. well out 
 of sight, the Reverend Augustus Lovel, B.A., 
 hurried along, at a most unusual rate for him, 
 towards his lodo^ino^s over Duffs the baker's 
 in the village, and it was not until coffee had 
 been served, and a cigar in lieu of his usual 
 modest after-dinner pipe had been got under 
 way, that he began to feel a wee bit more 
 like himself. 
 
 The Reverend Gussy smoked like a 
 chimney for quite five minutes without saying 
 a word ; then he took a gulp at his coffee, 
 and having adjusted his pince-nez, proceeded 
 to indite a letter to Captain Lovel, Royal 
 
Getting at the Curate 143 
 
 Horse Guards, The Barracks, Knightsbridge, 
 London. It ran thus : — 
 
 'LiMPFiELD, March lo. 
 
 ' Dear George, — At last I have some 
 news for you, and I fancy good news. As 
 you requested, I have ever since I saw you 
 kept my eye steadily on Squire Dick. It 
 began to get monotonous at last, and I was 
 on the point of writing to you to say that I 
 thought it waste of time acting the private 
 detective any longer, when, this morning, 
 going through the form as usual of sweeping 
 the landscape as viewed from my bedroom 
 window with the very excellent field glasses 
 you were good enough to give me for the 
 purpose, I espied, coming from the stables 
 of the big house, as the natives term Holmby 
 Hall, a procession consisting of no less than 
 nine horsemen. Of these four were on 
 race-horses, as I knew by the clothing in 
 which the latter were enveloped. At the 
 head of the procession I easily recognised 
 Squire Dick, and that horrid little friend of 
 his whom you detest so much, and whom 
 they call "Tiny Tim," and old Markham, 
 the Squire's stud-groom. They had certainly 
 not issued forth from their stable yard two 
 minutes before you may depend I was to be 
 
144 Getting at the Curate 
 
 seen issuing forth from my stable door, in 
 company with my faithful walking stick, and 
 the compressible field glasses (also your gift) 
 in my waistcoat pocket. 
 
 ' Of course, because I was in a hurry, I 
 ran into the arms of that dreadful old 
 nuisance Granny Brown, who wanted as 
 usual to read me a letter from her nephew in 
 the West Indies, How I hate that nephew! 
 However, I got away at last, and as soon as 
 I found myself in the fields started at a run 
 in the direction the horsemen were making 
 for when last I saw them, and I am pleased 
 to say — for I detest running — my exertions 
 were quickly rewarded, for after following a 
 footpath leading through a small wood 
 situated on an eminence, until I arrived at 
 the other side, whence I could command a 
 fine view of the valley beneath, I saw a sight 
 which would have gladdened your eyes pro- 
 bably more than it did mine. To make a 
 long story short, I witnessed what I had 
 come to see, viz.. Rataplan tried for the 
 Grand National. I, of course, did not know 
 one horse from the other, but I guessed 
 which was Rataplan from the fact that he 
 would naturally be ridden by "Tiny Tim." 
 If I am right in this respect, I have only to 
 
Getting at the Curate 145 
 
 add that he had the best of the other horses 
 all the way, and apparently won as he liked. 
 On their way home I met the whole party — 
 by accident, of course — and if you had seen 
 the respective faces of the Squire, "Tiny 
 Tim," and old Markham, you would, I think, 
 have agreed with me that they all looked 
 beside themselves with joy. I told them as 
 much, and "Tiny Tim," who evidently took 
 me for a fool, went out of his way to inform 
 me that they had been playing at hare and 
 hounds, with himself as hare. He little 
 knew what a fox he was addressing, did he ? 
 There you are, my dear George. I have 
 done your bidding, with credit, I fancy, to 
 myself, and, I hope, with eventual profit to 
 both of us. Now the only thing to do is to 
 make the most cf our knowledge. This is 
 your department. A hundred each way will 
 suit my modest requirements. Indeed, I 
 cannot afford more. At the same time if 
 you really think it what you would call a 
 " dead snip," I would not mind another fifty 
 for once in a way. No more now from 
 your affectionate brother, 
 
 ' Augustus Lovel.' 
 
 In due course came the reply : — 
 
 K 
 
146 Getting at the Curate 
 
 ' Knightsbridge, March 12. 
 ' Dear Gus, — You're a wonder. I don't 
 know who Mr Sherlock Holmes may be, 
 but I'll back you for money. I lost no time, 
 you may believe, in getting on the Squire's 
 "good thing" (I'm sorry for his good thing! 
 What .'*), and my commissioner and I between 
 us, got on a thousand at thirties, at which 
 price your century is on. The transaction 
 very quickly oozed out, and before the day 
 was over they took tens freely, at which 
 price my man hedged all my money to 
 Squire Dick's own commissioner. Kind of 
 me, wasn't it ? though the Squire's agent 
 didn't seem to think so. — Yours as always, 
 
 ' George Lovel.' 
 
 Our curate felt horribly guilty after the 
 receipt of his brother's letter, and when 
 Sunday came kept his eyes well on his 
 book the whole of morning service, never 
 daring to cast so much as a glance at the 
 Squire's pew. It was as well perhaps for 
 his peace of mind that he didn't, for the 
 Squire's usually cheery countenance bore an 
 unmistakably worried look ; so much so as to 
 cause old Jacky Peastraw, a patriarch of the 
 village, surprised at not getting his usual 
 
Getting at the Curate 147 
 
 Sunday after-church greeting, to remark to 
 a crony that ' Summat had gone wrong for 
 sartin sure, for he had niver see'd the Squire 
 look so black i' the feace afoor.' 
 
 II 
 
 From the Reverend Augustus Lovel to 
 His Brother, Captain George Lovel. 
 
 ' LiMPFiELD, March 15. 
 
 ' Dear George, — Bad news ! Shocking bad 
 news ! So bad indeed that I am almost 
 afraid to impart it to you. Last night I 
 received a note from Mrs Brabazon asking 
 me to come to luncheon at the Hall to-day. 
 As there were some parish matters to be dis- 
 cussed it was impossible to get out of it, or 
 I should have, you may be sure. So at one 
 o'clock to-day you may imagine me being- 
 ushered into Mrs Brabazon's drawina--room 
 in fear and trembling. Luncheon was 
 announced immediately afterwards, and no 
 sign of the Squire, thank goodness! Alas! 
 my joy was nipped in the bud the next 
 instant by my hostess remarking as she rose 
 from her chair, "Come along, Mr Lovel, we 
 
148 Getting at the Curate 
 
 won't wait for my husband, for he is so busy 
 attending to his poor horse that there is no 
 saying when he and his friend Captain 
 Coverly may make their appearance, if at 
 all." " Nothing serious the matter, I trust," 
 said I, thinking it was only one of the 
 hunters, or perhaps a carriage horse gone 
 wrong. "On the contrary, it is something 
 very serious, I am grieved to say," returned 
 Mrs Brabazon. " My husband," she went 
 on, "as perhaps you know, Mr Lovel, has a 
 horse entered in the Grand National to be 
 run next week " (Did I know, indeed .-* Did 
 I not ?) " and had quite set his heart 
 on winning it with him. And now poor 
 Rataplan has broken down or injured himself 
 in some way, and it is feared won't be able 
 to run. Isn't it too sad? After luncheon 
 you must go and see the poor creature. To 
 make things worse," wound up my hostess, 
 " Dick and his friends had backed the horse 
 heavily, and none of the money, he says, 
 can be saved if the disaster gets wind, which 
 apparently it is sure to do." To say that my 
 luncheon after this intelligence nearly choked 
 me is hardly the word, and I lost no time 
 when the meal was over in repairing to the 
 stables, as Mrs Brabazon had suggested, to 
 
Getting at the Curate 149 
 
 learn the worst. A helper at once escorted 
 me to a loose box, and having opened the 
 door a nice si^ht orreeted me. There, at- 
 tended by Squire Dick, his friend, " Tiny 
 Tim " of the Lancers, and old Markham, the 
 stud-groom (who glared at me like a tiger 
 as I entered), with one leg in a tub of hot 
 water, having it fomented and rubbed by a 
 helper, stood Rataplan, the favourite for the 
 Grand National. " Bad job this, Lovel," said 
 the Squire with a sigh. "All U P with 
 Rataplan now for the Liverpool, I fear." 
 " How did it happen ? " " Oh, Tim, here, was 
 riding him in a four-mile gallop this morning 
 when the horse suddenly faltered, then 
 stopped. Tim jumped off All we could 
 do to get the poor brute home — scratch him 
 to-morrow, I s'pose. Bad luck, isn't it ? 
 He couldn't have lost the Grand National 
 had he stood up. The trial told us that, 
 didn't it, Tiny ? " " It did so," growled Tiny, 
 adding surlily, " What's the good of all that 
 now ? The game's up, and I must look out 
 for another mount. Just my confounded 
 luck ! " Well, my dear George, I expressed 
 my sorrow, of course, and as soon as I could 
 decently do so took my departure in order 
 to write to you. Wire of course I dared 
 
150 Getting at the Curate 
 
 not, and I only hope my letter may reach 
 you in time to hedge some of the money. 
 If anybody can do it, you are the man. No 
 more now from your disconsolate brother, 
 
 'Augustus Lovel.' 
 
 From Mr Joseph Spry, Bookmaker, to 
 Richard Brabazon, Esq. 
 
 'Victoria Club, March 16. 
 
 ' Dear Sir, — As arranged upon between us, 
 I placed myself in communication with all my 
 agents in the different large towns and bade 
 them hold themselves in readiness for an 
 important move on Rataplan's behalf. They 
 had not long to wait. On making my 
 appearance here to-day, I at once saw there 
 was something wrong with the favourite for 
 the National, for which, of course, your com- 
 munication had prepared me. Everybody 
 was anxious to lay, and no one more so than 
 Smoothby, Captain Lovel's commissioner, 
 who was offering 1000 to 50, which price 
 I took from him to lose ^300, and then 
 instructed a couple more commissioners to 
 take as much more as they could get on the 
 same terms, and from him if possible. When 
 I left the room, Mr Smoothby was making any 
 
Getting at the Curate 151 
 
 amount of fancy bets, other horses against 
 Rataplan in their places — that he didn't 
 finish in the first ten ; that he didn't start, 
 etc., all, most likely, for his patron Captain 
 Lovel. My agents in the country have all 
 wired me satisfactorily ; in fact, they have 
 obtained better prices than I have myself in 
 many instances. In all I have backed 
 Rataplan for you to win close on ;^6o,ooo, 
 and now it only rests with the horse to land 
 the money. To-morrow, when it is known 
 that Rataplan has actually started for Aintree, 
 he will probably come very warm indeed. 
 Should you wish to hedge, kindly wire.— 
 I am, dear sir, yours faithfully, 
 
 * Joseph Spry.' 
 
 Extract from The Sportsman. No. i. 
 
 ' Liverpool, March 26. 
 ' Rataplan, favourite for the Grand National, 
 arrived here this morning, looking fit and 
 well.' 
 
 Extract from The Sportsman. No. 2. 
 
 'Aintree, March 27. 
 ' But far and away the best gallop of the 
 morning was that of Rataplan, who, ridden 
 
152 Getting at the Curate 
 
 by Captain "Tim" Coverly, and led by a 
 stable companion, was sent three miles on 
 the flat at racing pace, pulling up sound and 
 well. Whatever beats him to-morrow will 
 win.' 
 
 Telegram. 
 
 Fr07n Brahazo7i, to Mrs Brabazofi, 
 
 Club Stand, Liverpool, Holmby Hall, Soucester. 
 
 'Rataplan in a canter by Jive lengths' 
 
Tipping Extraordinary 
 
TIPPING EXTRAORDINARY 
 
 ' According to the late John Leech's little 
 snob,' observed my host, 'the hunting field, 
 besides improving our unrivalled breed of 
 horses, is directly responsible for the bring- 
 ing of people together who otherwise wouldn't 
 meet. 
 
 ' If snob's theory holds good, and there is 
 not much doubt that it does,' he went on, 
 ' how about the Turf, which surely is a 
 greater leveller than all " ye Sports and 
 Pastimes of ye Englishe," as Dicky Doyle 
 termed them, put together — the Turf where- 
 on the most fastidious of racegoers find 
 themselves forced, whether they like it or 
 no, to mix and be on more or less familiar 
 terms with men who, under ordinary circum- 
 stances, they would hesitate before speaking 
 to? 
 
 ' The page in my own particular racing 
 
 history which I am about to relate is an 
 
 instance in point. The principal actor I 
 
 knew to be a rascal, but as his information 
 
 155 
 
156 Tipping Extraordinary 
 
 on racing matters was, in nine cases out of 
 ten, exceedingly valuable to me, I should, 
 indeed, have been a flat had I abstained from 
 making use of it on the score of punctilious- 
 ness. And now to my story. 
 
 ' I forget the exact year, but it was early 
 in the sixties, that I made one of a large 
 party at Newmarket for the Houghton 
 Meeting. I had some horses in training at 
 the headquarters of the Turf just then, and, 
 if I recollect rightly, ran one or two in that 
 week. 
 
 ' Now, besides backing my own horses, I 
 was, like many another owner I could name, 
 fond — too fond, perhaps — of putting my 
 money on those of other people when I knew 
 something, or thought I did ; and by way of 
 obtaining the best information possible had 
 in my pay a person whom I will call for the 
 nonce Ephraim Hoyle. 
 
 ' If his character was bad (he was one of 
 the principal actors in the celebrated ' Run- 
 ning Rein ' robbery) his tips were undeniably 
 good, and as I invariably treated him very 
 liberally, giving him fifty if I won a thousand, 
 and seldom, in any case, less than a " pony," it 
 was decidedly to his advantage to tell me all 
 he knew, and this there is no doubt he did. 
 
Tipping Extraordinary 157 
 
 ' I n nine cases out of ten these sort of gentry 
 hive one particular training establishment 
 they associate themselves with, alluding to 
 it in conversation as " our stable," and Mr 
 Hoyle was no exception to the rule. " Our 
 stable," in his case, being one of a very shady 
 description, situated in the Midlands, not a 
 great way, as it happened, from my own 
 home, the presiding genius of which, one Joe 
 Cobley, bore a reputation hardly inferior to 
 that of his talented crony, Ephraim Hoyle. 
 Had I been handicapping the pair I should 
 have made the latter give the other seven 
 pounds — nay, I am inclined to think five 
 would have been sufficient to bring 'em 
 together. 
 
 ' The last time I had seen Mr Hoyle, which, 
 if my memory serves me, was at the previous 
 Newmarket Meeting, he had imparted to me 
 in strict confidence that during the Houghton 
 Meeting — the week I am referring to — he 
 and his "pal," Joe Cobley, intended to bring 
 off a great coup with a horse trained in their 
 stable named Politician. It was the best 
 thing ever known in racing, he declared, 
 adding, that of course he would give me the 
 " office " at the proper time. Well, here I was 
 at Newmarket, and as yet I had seen nothing 
 
158 Tipping Extraordinary 
 
 of either Hoyle or his friend. Their horse, 
 however, I noticed ran in two races, in neither 
 of which did he mal^e any sort of show, and 
 I therefore thought no more of the tip. 
 
 ' The concluding day of the meeting came 
 at last, and I think it was without exception 
 the very worst in the way of weather I ever 
 experienced at Newmarket, which is saying 
 a good deal. The rain simply came down 
 in sheets all day. Only two races were left 
 on the card at last, and my friends, in dis- 
 gust, announced their intention of going 
 home. I should have done the same, but 
 having a cab of my own, as well as a hack, I 
 elected to stay and see the finish. 
 
 ' I had just told my groom to take the hack 
 home and lit a cigar on my own account, 
 when a dingy face appeared at the window 
 of the cab, and a husky voice informed me 
 that a gent wanted to see me just outside 
 the old betting-ring — "The Slaughter 
 House," as it was called in those days. 
 
 ' " Tell him I can't come, it's too wet," said 
 I, thinking it was no one in particular. 
 
 ' " It's Muster Hoyle, and he vants to see 
 yer wery bad indeed, he does," pleaded 
 Mercury. 
 
 ' " All right ; tell him I'll be there directly," 
 
Tipping Extraordinary 159 
 
 I replied, on hearing who it was, and at once 
 bade my cabman drive to the ring side. 
 
 ' Sure enough, seated in a cab, were 
 Ephraim and Joe Cobley, both in a frantic 
 state of excitement and neither particularly 
 sober. Hoyle proceeded to impart the news 
 that the "good thing " he had warned me of a 
 fortnight ag-o was about to come off. 
 Politician was in the last race of the day, the 
 numbers for which were now going up ; he 
 couldn't possibly lose, he declared, and they 
 now wanted me to go into the ring and back 
 him for all I was worth for myself, and put 
 fifty apiece on for them. 
 
 ' In vain I pointed out that the horse had 
 been so badly beaten during the week that 
 he could stand no chance ; moreover, that I 
 had been told the race was a gift for one of 
 Captain So-and-So's. 
 
 ' " Never mind what you've been told, 
 Squire, and don't take no notice of the 
 previous running," almost screamed Ephraim 
 in his excitement. "Go into the ring and 
 back him for five thousand — ten thousand if 
 you like," he implored, "and you'll never re- 
 pent it as long as you live." 
 
 ' I was not proof against such an amount of 
 persuasion, so at last agreed to go, and the 
 
i6o Tipping Extraordinary 
 
 way the faces of the pair ht up when i 
 prepared to start was a study. 
 
 ' When I stepped into the ring the familiar 
 cry of " 3 to i bar i " which greeted my ears 
 made me aware that something was being 
 backed in earnest. "What do you bar?" 
 I inquired. 
 
 '"Barnacles," was the reply, Barnacles 
 being the very horse I had been told about. 
 
 '"What price Politician.'*" was my next 
 inquiry of a well-known member of the 
 ring. 
 
 ' " Nine to two, captain. Will ) ou back 
 him ? " 
 
 ' Not wishing to appear too anxious I took 
 the odds to a modest pony. Then I went 
 a little further on and invested fifty with 
 someone else and a hundred in another 
 quarter. 
 
 ' I was now thoroughly bitten, and the 
 upshot was that when I walked out of the 
 ring with my betting-book nearly reduced to 
 a pulp with the wet, 1 stood to lose one 
 thousand two hundred pounds and to win 
 five thousand pounds, including fifty apiece 
 for Hoyle and Joe Cobley, to the intense joy 
 of that disreputable pair when I told them. 
 I forgot to say that whilst in the ring an old 
 
Tipping Extraordinary i6i 
 
 friend came up to me and asked what it was 
 I was backing so heavily. 
 
 'The best thing of the day,' I told him, 
 and taking my tip he promptly backed 
 Politician for a couple of hundred on his own 
 account. 
 
 Getting into my cab again I bade the man 
 drive off to the T.Y.C., on which course the 
 race (a fifty pound plate) was to be run, and 
 bade him to tell me when they had started. 
 
 'They're off!' he cried before very long, 
 adding directly afterwards, 'And there s 
 something right out by himself ! but I can't 
 see which it is for the rain.' 
 
 On they came, and I'll be hanged if the 
 horse out by himself, and who won in the 
 commonest of canters, wasn't Politician ! 
 
 The following week was Worcester, 
 where, having a horse running in the Grand 
 Annual Steeplechase, I of course journeyed. 
 The second race of the day was a match 
 between a two and three-year-old. It was 
 generally supposed to be a gift for the latter, 
 and I was about to back him when Ephraim 
 Hoyle suddenly appeared at my elbow and 
 astonished me by declaring that the young 
 one was certain to win. It was as good a 
 thing, he declared, as Politician, and I must 
 
 L 
 
1 62 Tipping Extraordinary 
 
 back him for all I could get on, adding that 
 he and Cobley, who either trained him or 
 owned a hair of his tail, would like a hundred 
 apiece on if I would kindly put it on for them. 
 
 As my tipster apparently couldn't go 
 wrong, I made up my mind for another 
 plunge, and, moreover, told all my friends to 
 do the same. 
 
 Altogether I laid out about three thousand, 
 if my memory serves me. The good thing, 
 to my great delight and that of my friends, 
 duly came off, though we were frightened for 
 a few minutes by that ugly word ' objection ' 
 being wafted on the breeze from the weigh- 
 ing room. 
 
 However, it came to nothing, and I pro- 
 ceeded to invest the whole of my winnings 
 on my own horse for the Grand Annual, for 
 which, ridden by young Ben Land, he started 
 favourite and won easily. 
 
 I have mentioned that Joe Cobley the 
 trainer lived in my own part of the world, 
 and as Ephraim Hoyle had told me at 
 Worcester that he was going to pay his 
 friend a visit shortly, in the fulness of my 
 heart, I asked the pair over to see me one 
 day. Then the trainer in return asked me 
 to drive over some day and have a look 
 
Tipping Extraordinary 163 
 
 at the horses. This I promised to do at an 
 early date, and kept my word a fortnight or 
 so later on. 
 
 Having- looked at the horses, we repaired 
 to the house to discuss coming events. 
 Then the whole thino- came out. 
 
 ' What do you think of old Firefly, Squire, 
 for the Croydon Steeplechase ? ' inquired 
 the trainer. 
 
 ' I think he's a good horse,' I replied 
 'but he can't possibly win with i2st.' (the 
 weight he had to carry). 
 
 'Would you back him if he had list, 
 on his back ? ' put in Ephraim Hoyle. 
 
 ' Certainly ! ' I answered. 
 
 ' Then back him, Squire ; he's sure to win,' 
 said Ephraim, adding, as he saw my look of 
 amazement, ' Horses don't ahvays carry the 
 weight they are supposed to, Squire ! ' 
 
 I saw through the whole game now, and 
 went off home in a perfect state of bewilder- 
 ment at the audacity of the whole thing. 
 
 Firefly won the Croydon event easily, 
 which I am quite convinced he could not 
 have done had he carried i2st., o-ood 
 horse though he was, and for once I ab- 
 stained from backing Mr Hoyle's tip, and 
 was not on. 
 
164. Tipping Extraordinary 
 
 Disgusted at having been made a catspaw 
 of, I laid the whole matter before a friend, a 
 well-known racing man, and asked what I 
 should do. 
 
 ' Drop the rascals at once and don't have 
 anything more to say to them,' was the 
 advice he gave, and which I acted upon, you 
 may be sure. 
 
 There was not a shadow of a doubt that 
 the horses Hoyle had told me to back — 
 those at least he and his friend Joe Cobley 
 had anything to do with — had one and all 
 run their races short of weight. 
 
 How it was done I never was clever 
 enough to guess, much less find out. 
 
Stolen Goods 
 
STOLEN GOODS 
 
 ' Thoroughbred from your nose to your 
 tail, and with legs as sound to all outward 
 appearance as a bell of brass ; as quiet as a 
 sheep, too, apparently. I wonder how the 
 deuce you came to be harnessed to a hansom 
 cab ! ' 
 
 These were the thoughts that ran through 
 my mind one fine October afternoon, as, 
 having just finished luncheon at the Naval 
 and Military, I found myself in Piccadilly 
 strolling aimlessly along, and gazing at a 
 remarkably good-looking, little brown horse 
 between the shafts of a very smart hansom, 
 who walked past in the easy, dignified way 
 that only a thoroughbred can. I had been 
 amongst horses all my life, and flattered 
 myself I knew a good one when I saw 
 him. 
 
 ' And unless you are very much mistaken, 
 my boy,' thought I to myself, * you're looking 
 at one now.' The sight of the little brown 
 horse quite fascinated me, in fact. 
 
 167 
 
1 68 Stolen Goods 
 
 The cabman, a smart-looking chap, attired 
 in a very ' down the road ' box coat, seeing 
 me look his way, pulled up, with the inquiry, 
 ' Hansom, sir ? ' 
 
 I jumped in without a word : not that I 
 wanted to go anywhere in particular, but 
 because I could not tear myself away from the 
 little brown horse. It ended in my driving 
 about the whole of the afternoon from one 
 place to another, and thus I had a good 
 opportunity of seeing what the little nag was 
 made of. His trotting action was like that 
 of many thoroughbred ones, not particularly 
 good, but he was a delightful horse to sit 
 behind, for he never looked to the right nor 
 left, but went steadily on in as old-fashioned 
 a way as it was possible to conceive. I 
 don't believe a traction engine even would 
 have ruffled his serenity of temperament. 
 
 ' That's a nice horse of yours,' said I, 
 addressing the cabman on alighting at my 
 rooms in Bury Street. ' What's his fault ? 
 I suppose he's got one, hasn't he ? ' 
 
 'Fault?' exclaimed my charioteer, scorn- 
 fully, descending from his perch and patting 
 the little brown horse affectionately. 'Fault ? 
 Why, bless yer, he don't know how to spell 
 it, this little 'oss don't. I don't werily believe 
 
Stolen Goods 169 
 
 he never done nothinor wrono" in 'is bloomin' 
 life, ave yer, my lad? I've drove 'im,' 
 continued cabby, ' gettin' on now for six 
 weeks, and he's never be'aved any different 
 to wot you've seen 'im. He looked wery 
 different, though, when 1 fust 'ad 'im. Where 
 did I get 'im ? Why, I bought 'im of a pal 
 who was 'ard up and couldn't afford to keep 
 'im properly, and he was a reg'lar bag o' 
 bones, bless yer, in consekence. He soon 
 picked up, though, as yer see, and I wouldn't 
 take fifty of anybody's money for 'im now.' 
 
 Well the upshot of the whole business was 
 that after a quarter of an hour's haggling and 
 bargaining, the little brown nag became my 
 property for the consideration of fifty-two 
 pounds, ten shillings, an old hat, and a bottle 
 of whisky. 
 
 The very next day I clapped a saddle on 
 the back of my new purchase, and rode him 
 in the Row — which celebrated ride I need 
 scarcely say I had nearly to myself — the 
 verdict, after I had put him through all his 
 paces, being that he was one of the very 
 best hacks I had ever ridden. 
 
 ' If you can only jump, my beauty,' I 
 thought to myself, as I gave the little nag 
 an approving smack on the neck — a compli- 
 
170 Stolen Goods 
 
 ment he seemed quite to appreciate — 'we'll 
 bustle some of 'em up between the flags as 
 soon as steeplechasing sets in in earnest, see 
 if we don't.' 
 
 That night I dreamt I won the Grand 
 National on him. 
 
 I was not happy now until I had ' Come 
 by Chance,' as I had christened him, down 
 in the country. 
 
 Accordingly a few days afterwards I took 
 him along with me to a hunting-box I rented 
 down in Buckinghamshire. 
 
 In a laroe field behind the house were 
 several artificial jumps of all sorts for my 
 horse to practise over, and hither, the 
 morning after my arrival, I brought ' Come 
 by Chance' to see what he was made 
 of. 
 
 With my groom on my best hunter to give 
 him a lead, away we went, now over the 
 gorsed hurdles, next the post and rails, and 
 then the water jump — not a big one, cer- 
 tainly, but a water jump for all that. 
 
 ' Come by Chance,' to my delight, liked 
 the fun just as much as I did, and never put 
 a foot wrong, thereby causing my man, who 
 had had a good deal of experience with 
 steeplechasers, when he saw how the little 
 
Stolen Goods 171 
 
 horse pricked his ears and laid hold of his 
 bit in approaching his fences, to remark that 
 in his opinion ' the Httle brown 'oss had been 
 at the game before, or he was much mis- 
 took.' 
 
 'So much the better,' thought I, as I rode 
 him triumphantly back to the stables. 
 
 Long was the confab, betwixt myself and 
 my groom that afternoon as to the future 
 career of ' Come by Chance,' with the result 
 that we decided at last to give the little nag 
 a fortnight's rest or so, and then put him in 
 training with a view to winning the Tally-ho 
 Steeplechase at Sandown in December, a 
 contingency my groom was pleased to say 
 was a moral if the horse only kept well. 
 
 The programme we had mapped out for 
 my new purchase in horseflesh was carried 
 out to the letter, the result being that when 
 the day arrived for him to be boxed for 
 Sandown, it found ' Come by Chance ' fit to 
 run for a kingdom, and myself and groom 
 brimful of confidence. 
 
 Entered as Mr Somerfield's bay gelding, 
 'Come by Chance' (aged), pedigree un- 
 known, the handicapper had let him in with 
 only lost. 7lbs., and with a first-rate jockey 
 engaged to ride, I might well be excused for 
 
\^2 Stolen Goods 
 
 looking upon the Tally-ho Steeplechase as 
 already in my pocket. Mine being a dark 
 horse, too, and trained privately, and nothing 
 consequently being known about him, I 
 should doubtless be enabled to get good 
 odds about him at the post ; another ad- 
 vantage I was looking forward to with a 
 good deal of pleasure, you may depend. 
 
 Yes, I was a proud man, I can tell you, 
 that December morning, when accompanied 
 by a few chosen friends, all in the 'know,' 
 and in high spirits at getting on a real 
 ' good thing,' as they termed it, at a long- 
 price, we started from the club in a 
 succession of cabs bound to Waterloo 
 Station en route to Sandown. 
 
 When I thought, too, of the open-hearted 
 way I had imparted the secret to everybody 
 I knew, from my own personal friends down 
 to the landlord at my lodgings and the ser- 
 vants at the club, I felt quite a philanthropist. 
 
 There should be no coming up to me with 
 reproachful looks, and ' I say, old chappie, I 
 do think you might have put an old friend 
 on to the "good thing," 'pon my soul I do.' 
 Of that I was determined. There is nothinof 
 mean or selfish about me, thank goodness ! 
 Oh dear, no. 
 
Stolen Goods 173 
 
 Arrived at Sandown, we first of all pro- 
 ceeded in a body to the paddock, where I 
 introduced my friends to ' Come by Chance,' 
 who, with a stable-boy on his back and led 
 by my groom, was walking round and round 
 in his accustomed, old-fashioned manner. 
 We then made tracks for the stand. 
 
 The Tally-ho Steeplechase stood third on 
 the card, and it looked ' healthy ' for our 
 luck, as one of my friends remarked when 
 we spotted the successive winners of the two 
 preceding events, a selling steeplechase and 
 a hunters' hurdle. 
 
 We went in a body to the paddock to see 
 our horse saddled, in higher spirits than 
 ever. Alas ! we little thought, as chattering 
 and laughing we passed through the pad- 
 dock-gate, how unceremoniously our mirth 
 was about to be dispelled, and our joy turned 
 into woe. We were met the moment we set 
 foot into the enclosure by little Captain 
 Coper (quite the best of the soldiers), who 
 was to ride 'Come by Chance,' with a face 
 as white nearly as the cap he wore. 
 
 *I say, old feller,' he exclaimed, rushing 
 up, ' there's the devil to pay over yonder,' 
 pointing, as he spoke, with his whip to the 
 far end of the paddock where my horse was. 
 
174 Stolen Goods 
 
 ' There's a bucolic party,' he went on, 
 ' swearing the horse is his, and so far from 
 being a maiden he's won half the steeple- 
 chases in England. He was stolen from his 
 place six months ago, so he says, and — but 
 there, for heaven's sake, come and see the 
 cove yourself. I don't understand it, dashed 
 if I do ! ' 
 
 As pale in the face by this time as my 
 poor little friend, Coper, I hurried off, best 
 pace, to learn the worst. Sure enough, 
 when I elbowed my way through the crowd 
 collected round my horse, there was a stout, 
 red-faced person of horsey appearance, evi- 
 dently in a rabid state of excitement, 
 haranguing the lookers-on generally and my 
 unhappy groom in particular in most 
 aofsrressive fashion. 
 
 ' Oh ! here you be at last then, be you ? ' 
 was his insolent greeting as I came up. 
 
 ' I am Mr Somerfield, if that's what you 
 mean,' said I, loftily. 'What might you 
 want ? ' 
 
 ' Wot might I want 1 Haw — haw — haw, 
 that's a good 'un, too, that is ! ' roared red- 
 face. ' Wot might I want, indeed ? Why, 
 I want my 'oss, to be sure — my 'oss, as was 
 stolen six months ago from my place near 
 
Stolen Goods 175 
 
 Barnet, where he was turned out to grass — 
 and wot's more, I mean to have him.' 
 
 ' *' Come by Chance " yo2ir horse ? ' I 
 stammered. 
 
 ' To be sure he is,' was the confident reply 
 — * at least Barnacles is — that's his proper 
 name. Here's his discription — see (pulling 
 a hand-bill from his pocket) and if you don't 
 choose to believe me, ask any of the jockeys 
 on the course ; they all knows him, bless you, 
 as well as they knows their own fathers. 
 
 ' " Come by Chance," indeed ! ' shouted 
 red-face, contemptuously. ' It's me as should 
 be called " Come by Chance," I fancy, for it 
 was only at the last minute I made up my 
 mind to come 'ere.' 
 
 Alas ! it was all true what he said, and 
 * Come by Chance,' late Barnacles, was, of 
 course, to the infinite chagrin of all of us, in- 
 eligible to compete for the Tally-ho Steeple- 
 chase. I could not make up my mind, 
 however, to part with the little horse, and I 
 therefore made overtures with the rough 
 diamond who owned him for his purchase. 
 It was only after a lavish use of all the per- 
 suasive powers I had about me, and the 
 consumption of several bottles of champagne, 
 with one or two glasses of brandy and water 
 
176 
 
 Stolen Goods 
 
 thrown in, that I at last succeeded in effect- 
 ing a deal. Though I paid what seemed a 
 lot of money for him, the little horse turned 
 out a real bargain in the long run, for not 
 only did he win me, ridden by my friend, 
 Tommy Coper, no end of races, but he 
 succeeded last year in running into a place 
 for the Grand National. If my sporting 
 readers see ' Come by Chance, late 
 Barnacles,' amongst the entries for the 
 Liverpool next March, don't forget to back 
 him — for a ' shop^ at all events. 
 
The Fortune Tellers 
 
 M 
 
THE FORTUNE TELLERS 
 
 Part I 
 
 ' Oh, what fun ! ' 
 
 'Yes, won't it be? I've arranged it all 
 perfectly. Listen, Blanche. 
 
 ' To begin with, Breakfast — with a capital 
 B, please — for we shall have a hard day's 
 work before us. That over, we kiss our 
 beloved and highly-respectable parent, and 
 see him comfortably into his omnibus eri 
 route to the City, as usual — for, of course, 
 he won't dream of going to the Derby. 
 
 ' Papa out of sight, we hurry off to one of 
 the theatrical costumiers, previously arranged 
 upon, and "make up," as I believe they say 
 on the stage, for our respective parts. 
 
 ' Finally, we jump into the smart hansom 
 that is ready waiting for us outside, and — 
 " Hi tiddley hi ti, hi ti ti " — away we bowl to 
 Epsom. 
 
 ' There, that's the programme, Blanche ; 
 beat it if you can ! ' 
 
 179 
 
i8o The Fortune Tellers 
 
 And pretty Maud Beverley, evidently 
 highly delighted herself, gave vent to her 
 overflowing amount of spirits by a wild dance 
 round the room, finally subsiding in a breath- 
 less state on to the sofa, where sat her sister, 
 and giving her a hearty kiss as she plumped 
 down beside her. 
 
 Maud and Blanche, the pretty daughters 
 of John Beverley, a highly respectable ' some- 
 thing ' in the City, and a widower, living in 
 Russell Square, had long had a burning desire 
 to go to the Derby, but as yet, much to their 
 disgust, their whim had not been gratified. 
 Their father somehow did not seem to see it. 
 
 ' All right for men^ he would growl, ' but 
 no place for young ladies I ' 
 
 Next, a pathetic appeal was made by 
 both sisters to the feelings of Algy Barton 
 and Gus Travers, the two eligible young men 
 to whom respectively they had pledged their 
 troth. 
 
 Alas ! the respective bosoms of these two 
 gentlemen were as obdurate as old Mr 
 Beverley's. 
 
 Algy, who was as a rule anything but 
 strait-laced in his ideas on things in 
 general, hummed and hawed, and finally 
 agreed with their father that the Derby was 
 
The Fortune Tellers i8i 
 
 no place for a lady. Augustus Travers 
 simply cast up his eyes in horror and groaned 
 aloud at the bare mention of the idea. 
 
 But then Augustus, as all the world knew, 
 was a very good young man indeed — much 
 looked up to, as they say, by everyone. 
 
 There were men, Algy Barton among 
 them, who put Master Gus down as a 
 hypocritical prig — ' Joseph Surface,' Algy 
 always called him behind his back — but what 
 good man has not his detractors in this world 
 I should like to know ? 
 
 Defeated at all points, then, the two 
 sisters, after a long and patient consideration 
 of the circumstances, as they laughingly 
 observed, agreed to adopt the only plan left 
 open to them, namely, to take the law into 
 their own hands and slip off to the Derby on 
 their own account. 
 
 ' And depend upon it,' said Maud with a 
 merry laugh, ' we shall enjoy it all the more. 
 Stolen sweets are always the best, you 
 know.' 
 
 Oh ! they were two nice young ladies, Miss 
 Beverley and her sister, I can tell you. To 
 see them walking sedately along Russell 
 Square of a Sunday morning, with their 
 father, on their way to church, Maud escorted 
 
1 82 The Fortune Tellers 
 
 by that model young" man, Augustus Travers 
 — Algy Barton generally met them coming 
 out of church — looking as if butter wouldn't 
 melt in their mouths, no one would ever 
 have credited them with planning, much less 
 executing, the mad escapade I am about to 
 put on record. 
 
 The Derby Day arrived in due course, and 
 a lovely one it proved to be. In fact, with 
 our two adventurous damsels the whole 
 success of the piece, as they laughingly said, 
 rested on the kindness of the Clerk of the 
 Weather ; for had he been in a bad temper 
 and caused it to rain, the young ladies had 
 settled in their own minds to abandon the 
 expedition, which would have been painful 
 to their feelings in the extreme. So when 
 they looked out of the window and saw 
 the sun shining its brightest, with every 
 prospect of a glorious day, they said so many 
 pretty things with reference to the afore- 
 mentioned head of the weather department 
 that, had he been listening, he must have 
 blushed a deep, rosy red — he couldn't have 
 helped it, I'm sure he couldn't. 
 
 The first proceeding of the day, and not 
 the least important, Breakfast — with a capital 
 B — being over, and their beloved parent, 
 
The Fortune Tellers 183 
 
 looking the immaculate British merchant 
 more than ever in spotless white waistcoat 
 that covered his portly chest, having taken 
 himself off Citywards, Blanche — naughty 
 little Blanche — as she pinned his usual flower 
 in his button-hole, and kissed him on the 
 nose, having the hardihood to tell him that 
 he looked so smart she believed he was going 
 to the Derby on the sly, eliciting a playful 
 growl from dear papa of ' Pooh, pooh, the 
 Derby indeed ! What nonsense you talk, 
 child ! ' the two girls ran hastily upstairs, 
 adorned themselves in walking attire, and 
 having informed the domestics that they 
 were going to spend the day with some friends 
 in South Kensington and would not, in 
 consequence, be at home to luncheon, walked 
 out of the house, their respective hearts, as 
 Miss Maud observed, beating sixteen to the 
 dozen. 
 
 The hansom they had taken the precaution 
 of ordering beforehand — and a very smart 
 one it was — they found waiting for them 
 on the shady side of the square, and into it 
 they stepped and bade the cabman drive to 
 the costumier's in Covent Garden, where they 
 had arranged to be dressed for their day's 
 masquerading. 
 
184 The Fortune Tellers 
 
 When at the end of half-an-hour they 
 emerged from that estabhshment and re- 
 entered their hansom they were so akered, 
 what with their brown faces and gipsy get-up, 
 that their Jehu at first sight failed to recog- 
 nise them, much to their deHght. 
 
 It was not, indeed, until they spoke that 
 he was sure of the identity of his fare. 
 
 ' Epsom, now, please, cabman,' said 
 Blanche, who jumped in last, showing all 
 her pretty teeth as she vouchsafed him a 
 sweet smile. 
 
 ' Well,' exclaimed that worthy, as he drove 
 rapidly off; 'strike me pink if this ain't a 
 rum start, and no mistake about it. Wot- 
 hever's their little game, I wonder ? ' 
 
 Part II 
 
 Epsom Downs on the Derby Day, about halt- 
 an-hour before the time appointed for 
 bringing off the great race of the year — 
 consequently, Epsom Downs at its gayest, 
 more especially that portion of it known 
 as 'The Hill,' on which is assembled just 
 about as motley a crowd as it is possible to 
 imagine. 
 
The Fortune Tellers 185 
 
 Yonder is the youthful Marquis of Muskrat, 
 who has driven down that popular favourite, 
 Miss de Courcey, of the Frivolity, in one of 
 Mr Newman's well-appointed equipages ; a 
 little further on is that well-known patron of 
 the drama, Lord Bronzeborough, who, true to 
 his favourite hobby, has tooled down a select 
 company of actors and actresses on his coach. 
 And very much they appear to be enjoying 
 themselves, to judge from the noise and 
 laughter that proceeds from the roof of the 
 drag. 
 
 Who can this merry old gentleman in the 
 white waiscoat be, who, seated in a landau, 
 in company of two ladies, chiefly remarkable 
 for their brilliant attire and free-and-easy 
 manners, is pledglngthem freely in champagne 
 and deriving, apparently, much amusement 
 from the wit and humour that flows from the 
 ruby lips of his fair friends ? 
 
 Don't tell me that it is Mr Beverley, the 
 good old gentleman who steadily ignores the 
 existence of the Derby, and who we last 
 heard of leaving his house in Russell Square, 
 to go to the City as usual. 
 
 I am afraid — nay, sure — it is, though, and 
 he is in high delight at this present moment, for 
 one of two remarkably pretty gipsy girls, who 
 
1 86 The Fortune Tellers 
 
 have made quite a sensation on The Hill, has 
 just told him that he is a naughty old gentle- 
 man, with a wicked eye. 
 
 He shows his appreciation of the compli- 
 ment by crossing the pretty gipsy's hand with 
 a sovereign, in exchangee for which she tells 
 him his fortune, rather staggering him at the 
 finish by saying that she hopes the next time 
 they meet on Epsom Downs he will have the 
 two pretty daughters he has left behind him 
 at home along with him. 
 
 ' Instead of us ! Thank you for nothing ! ' 
 exclaims one of the two ladies with asperity, 
 as the gipsies move off. 
 
 And who is the young man seated in a 
 brougham, lunching tete-a-tete with the strik- 
 ing-looking lady with the golden hair and 
 brilliant complexion, whom the two pretty 
 gipsies next accost ? 
 
 Not that pink of propriety, Augustus 
 Travers, surely ! Alas ! it is, and no other, 
 and he looks horribly guilty when the gipsy, 
 whose voice trembles somewhat, tells him 
 that he is in love with a dark girl, who once 
 loved him, but does so no longer, for she has 
 found out that he is a gay deceiver. 
 
 Who is this good-looking young fellow, 
 his face aglow with anger, who floors in 
 
The Fortune Tellers 187 
 
 most workmanlike style a drunken snob, 
 who, having made a bet with his pals that 
 he will kiss the prettiest of those two gipsy 
 girls whether they like it or not, endeavours 
 to carry his threat into execution, and who 
 takes off his hat to her as if she were a 
 duchess, when she thanks him for his kind- 
 ness ? 
 
 Is it our friend, Algy Barton ? 
 
 Why, certainly ! 
 
 And it is pleasant to note the happy ex- 
 pression that comes over his face when later 
 on the gipsy who has tracked him to the dray 
 he has come down on, tells his fortune for 
 him, and informs him that before the hunt- 
 ing moon is on the wane he will be married 
 to a fair girl who loves him dearly. 
 
 He gave the gipsy a sovereign on the spot 
 for that pretty speech ; but she refused to 
 take it, asking instead for a plain gold ring 
 he wore on his finger. 
 
 ' Give it to the poor gipsy for a keepsake, 
 my handsome gentleman,' she pleaded, ' and 
 your leading star will always be in the 
 ascendant.' 
 
 And Algy did as he was bid, like the good- 
 natured fellow he was. 
 
 ' I — I think we might go home now, 
 
1 88 The Fortune Tellers 
 
 Maud,' murmured one gipsy to the other, 
 as they walked away. 
 
 ' I think so, too,' was the reply. 
 
 'Poor, dear papa!' said Miss Beverley, 
 soothingly, at breakfast the next morning. 
 * I am so sorry you have got up with a 
 headache. 
 
 * I thought your office was so nice and 
 cool, too, always. 
 
 ' If you had gone to the Derby now,' 
 she went on, ' and sat in a carriage, smoking 
 cigars and drinking champagne in the broil- 
 ing sun all day, having your fortune told 
 by-' 
 
 ' Oh, bother the Derby ! ' exclaimed the 
 good old gentleman, rising hastily from the 
 table and bolting from the room with his 
 hands clasping his aching head. 
 
 The slamming of the hall door was the 
 signal for a burst of merry laughter from 
 Maud and Blanche. 
 
 ' Oh, you naughty old gentleman with the 
 wicked eye ! ' exclaimed Blanche, shaking her 
 finger at her father as he crossed the square. 
 ' It just serves you right, and I am not the 
 least sorry for you ! ' 
 
The Fortune Tellers 189 
 
 ' How is Mr Beverley ? ' inquired Gus 
 Travers, calling at the house that afternoon. 
 ' Got a headache ? Sorry for that. Went 
 to the Derby, did he ? Ah ! that accounts 
 for it. How any decent person can counten- 
 ance such a Saturnalia, much less attend it, 
 is beyond my comprehension, it really is, 
 Maud ! ' 
 
 ' Have you ever been to the Derby, Gus ? ' 
 
 ' Never, Maud ; never! upon my Honour!' 
 and Gus turned up his eyes and looked so 
 virtuous — oh, so virtuous — as he said it. 
 
 That night all the presents he had given 
 to Maud Beverley during their engagement 
 were returned to him, done up in a neat 
 parcel, and accompanied by a note, the 
 contents of which, I regret to say, caused 
 him to swear and blaspheme most terribly. 
 
 What sort of a reception did Algy Barton 
 get when he called in Russell Square that 
 afternoon ? Well, I should imagine a 
 tolerably favourable one. 
 
 I know this much (the author of course 
 knows everything), that towards the end of a 
 prolonged interview, a very pretty head 
 reclined lovingly on Algy's breast, and a 
 very sweet face looked up into his, as its 
 owner murmured softly, ' Algy, love ? ' 
 
190 The Fortune Tellers 
 
 ' What is it, Blanche, dearest ? ' 
 ' Do you think, if you ask her very prettily, 
 that that fair girl the gipsy spoke of will 
 marry you before the wane of the hunting 
 moon ? ' 
 
The Butt of the Family 
 
THE BUTT OF THE FAMILY 
 
 Had my mother been spared to us a few 
 years longer, instead of dying as she did 
 whilst giving birth to my youngest brother ; 
 or had it been my good fortune to have been 
 blessed with a sister to take my part, it is 
 just possible that I might have played a 
 more important part in the home circle than 
 that of 'The Butt of the Family,' a title 
 which, on my old nurse's authority, has been 
 mine from the day when I went into short 
 clothes, until the present time, nearly a 
 quarter of a century later. And solely and 
 entirely because I do not happen to be a 
 sportsman. 
 
 ' For generations past, mine has been a 
 family of sportsmen, sir,' gives out my father 
 on all possible occasions, more especially 
 after dinner ; ' and now that I am getting 
 old and feeble, and consequently unable in 
 my own person to keep up our good name, I 
 look to my sons ' — here he invariably glares 
 
 N 193 
 
194 The Butt of the Family 
 
 at me in a ferocious manner — 'to do so for 
 me.' 
 
 No, I don't know how it was, but I never 
 took kindly to sport in any shape or form, 
 though I tried my level best to do so, not 
 only for my father's sake, who valued, as I 
 knew, the family reputation for skill in the 
 art of venery beyond everything in the 
 world, but for my own personal comfort 
 and peace of mind, the incessant gibes and 
 jeers I had to put up with day after day 
 from my father and brothers being weari- 
 some, not to say intolerable, to a degree. 
 
 We all went to Eton as a matter of course, 
 that being another of the institutions to be 
 kept up religiously by the Higgins family 
 from generation to generation. Personally 
 I should have liked that part of the pro- 
 gramme very much, had I not had the mis- 
 fortune to have been there at the same time 
 and in the same house as my elder brother, 
 who, being in the fifth form, promptly made 
 me his fag, and my life a burden to me at 
 the same time. 
 
 The ' major,' besides being one of the 
 most popular boys in the school, had an 
 immense reputation as a sportsman, fabulous 
 stories being told of his prowess in the 
 
The Butt of the Family 195 
 
 hunting field during the holidays. Besides, 
 wasn't he master of the School Beaoles, and 
 didn't he keep a badger and a couple of 
 bulldogs 'up town,' to say nothing of a 
 betting book at his tutor's ? Was it not 
 common property, too, that when Bombastes 
 Furioso won the Derby, Higgins Major was 
 the richer by over a hundred pounds ? 
 
 No wonder on the strength of all this 
 knowledge that his schoolmates in their 
 admiration christened him ' Esau,' a nick- 
 name which stuck to him through life ; nor 
 is it surprising that on my putting in an 
 appearance upon the scene, a fourth-form 
 wag promptly dubbed me 'Jacob.' I often 
 wondered whether the original Esau ever 
 corrected his degenerate brother with a 
 cricket stump. If he did I am not surprised 
 at the latter paying him off when the proper 
 time came. Sausages not cooked properly 
 — cricket stump ; not at the major's elbow 
 the moment I was wanted — cricket stump. 
 Oh ! happy day ! when I got into the fifth 
 form and said good-bye to fagging, and con- 
 sequently the cricket stump ; and still happier 
 day, when the major, to the regret, with one 
 solitary exception, of the whole school, bade 
 farewell to Alma Mater ! Thank goodness, 
 
196 The Butt of the Family 
 
 when my younger brother came upon the 
 scene, there was no room for him at my 
 tutor's, so that he had to migrate for the 
 time being to a Dame's, consequently I 
 saw next to nothing of him. At the end of 
 the same half I myself left. Had it been 
 otherwise, I feel sure that I should never 
 have dared to have made him my fag, much 
 less submitted him to corporal punishment 
 with a cricket stump, or any other offensive 
 weapon. 
 
 Arrived at man's estate, and living at 
 home, how I tried to like sport, and with 
 what ill success ! The chaff I had to endure 
 nearly drove me mad. Winkle, Mr Briggs, 
 Johnny Gilpin, Simple Simon — such were 
 some of the fancy names applied to me when 
 forced, very much against my inclination, to 
 take the field. Even the very servants 
 seemed to despise me — when I say servants, 
 I allude to the men, for I believe the women 
 pitied me. I was indeed the Butt of the 
 Family. 
 
 At last there came a climax. One fine 
 frosty morning, early in the month of 
 November, my father, at breakfast, an- 
 nounced his intention of beating the hedge- 
 rows and one or two spinnies in search of 
 
The Butt of the Family 197 
 
 pheasants and a possible woodcock ; and my 
 two brothers being away, asked me if I 
 should like to bear him company. I did not 
 like, as it happened ; a box of new books 
 from Mudie having arrived that very 
 morning, the contents of which I was most 
 anxious to examine. However, as the in- 
 vitation was evidently meant as an equi- 
 valent to a command, I had no resource 
 but to obey, and away we accordingly 
 went. 
 
 As I have already explained, I never could 
 shoot at the best of times, but on this 
 particular occasion I quite beat the record. 
 Try my best I could not get that box of 
 books out of my head, the consequence being 
 that I missed shot after shot. Whether easy 
 or the reverse, it did not in the least matter 
 which. 
 
 So long as my bad marksmanship was 
 confined to pheasants and hares and rabbits, 
 my father did not mind so much, especially 
 as in most cases he was handy enough to be 
 able to what he elegantly termed * wipe my 
 eye,' a feat which invariably afforded him a 
 good deal of satisfaction ; but when later on, 
 being posted outside a little bit of a covert, 
 three woodcocks came sailing along my way 
 
198 The Butt of the Family 
 
 one after another, in the most unexpected 
 manner, and I missed the lot, the governor, 
 who was unfortunately too far off this time to 
 render any assistance, fairly lost his temper, 
 and, as the keeper expressed it to a sub- 
 ordinate, 'let Mr Charles have it ' to such 
 a tune that Mr Charles, for once unable 
 to stand the parental language, shouldered 
 his o^un and walked off home in hig^h 
 dudgeon. 
 
 'A soft answer turneth away wrath,' is an 
 old saying ; and it is certain that the butler's 
 excuse for his master when I confided in him 
 the reason for my premature return had 
 somewhat the same effect on me. 
 
 ' I know,' said the worthy man, ' the 
 Squire's very hasty and free of speech at 
 times if anything puts him out, poor 
 gentleman ; but you must remember, Mr 
 Charles, woodcocks are very scarce in 
 these parts, and he is so fond of their trail 
 on toast ! ' 
 
 These were extenuating circumstances 
 which I must confess never entered my head 
 until so eloquently brought to my notice by 
 the learned counsel for the defence ; and the 
 immediate effect upon me was a feeling that 
 possibly I had been rather too thin-skinned 
 
The Butt of the Family 199 
 
 in the matter. So I duly made my apologies, 
 which were accepted, though with an ex- 
 ceedingly bad grace, by my autocratic parent. 
 He evidently couldn't get those trails upon 
 toast out of his mind. I could only con- 
 gratulate myself upon the fact that neither of 
 my sporting brothers were at home. Had 
 they been, I should never have heard the 
 last of my escapade. 
 
 As it was, when they did return, I found 
 that the incident had been by no means 
 forgotten by my father, as I had fondly 
 hoped would have been the case. 
 
 All this sort of thing was extremely dis- 
 tasteful to me ; and my brothers one day 
 having carried their fun a little too far, I 
 armed myself with a thick stick and started 
 for a country walk, for the double purpose of 
 ruminating over my troubles and considering 
 what was best to be done in order to get rid 
 of them. It proved to be the most delight- 
 ful country walk and the luckiest I ever took. 
 Taking a series of short cuts across the fields, 
 I had just clambered over a hogbacked stile 
 which separated the last of them from the 
 high road, when a rattling noise as of a 
 vehicle of some sort approaching at a very 
 unusual rate of speed brought me to atten- 
 
200 The Butt of the Family 
 
 tion, and in another second a carriage drawn 
 by a pair of grey ponies, and driven by a 
 lady, hove in sight. Good heavens ! it was 
 Mary Trevor, and the ponies were running 
 away with her. Stopped they must be, but 
 how, except by standing right in their path 
 and waving my arms Hke a madman, I did 
 not know. Anyhow, that is what I did ; 
 and — well, the next thing I remember was 
 finding myself lying on the grass by the 
 side of the road with my head reclining in 
 Mary Trevor's lap, who with a hand- 
 kerchief steeped in muddy water from a 
 puddle in the road, aided by sundry hot 
 tears from the prettiest blue eyes in the 
 world, had just succeeded in bringing me 
 to. 
 
 'Oh, I'm so glad !' exclaimed Mary, as I 
 faintly murmured her name. 
 
 ' But the ponies ? ' I gasped. 
 
 'Oh, never mind the ponies,' she replied, 
 ' stupid little brutes ! They were frightened 
 at a traction engine and bolted, and I should 
 probably have been killed had you not 
 stopped them. You've saved my life, 
 Charlie, and I — I — I shall never forget it, 
 or you, as long as I live.' 
 
 She bent over me as she spoke, a warm 
 
The Butt of the Family 201 
 
 tear dropped on my cheek, her Hps were 
 pressed to mine in one burning kiss, and 
 then a mist came over my sight, and I re- 
 membered no more. 
 
 It is a bright afternoon in March, and all 
 the members of my beautiful family, with the 
 exception of my eldest brother, who is at 
 Lincoln, and with one addition in the shape 
 of Mary Trevor, who had driven her grey 
 ponies over, and to whom I am to be 
 married soon after Lent, are assembled in 
 the large hall in the home of my ancestors, 
 drinking five - o'clock tea, and awaiting 
 patiently the result of the Lincolnshire 
 Handicap, in which we all of us have a 
 pecuniary interest, my father and brothers in 
 particular having backed the favourite, 
 Conger Eel II., to land them a small 
 fortune. 
 
 ' Now we shall know our fate ! ' exclaimed 
 my father, as a footman entered with a 
 telegram on a silver salver ; and ' Mary,' 
 he went on, turning to my fiancee, ' you shall 
 open it, my dear, for luck.' 
 
 Accordingly, Mary tore open the envelope 
 as she was requested, and, amid breathless 
 silence, read out its contents : — 
 
202 The Butt of the Family 
 
 Jack Hinton . . . . i 
 Jacobite . . . .2 
 
 Conger Eel II. . . .3 
 
 ' Hurrah ! ' she cried, crumpHng up the 
 telegram, and throwing it at me, whilst she 
 danced about the room. 
 
 ' Hurrah ! ' shouted I in my turn. 
 
 ' What on earth are you crying " Hurrah ! " 
 for, boy ? ' testily demanded my father ; ' are 
 you mad, or what ? The favourite's not 
 won, you fool ! ' 
 
 * No, I know he hasn't,' I rejoined ; ' but 
 / have. Took two thousand to sixty about 
 the winner a fortnight ago, and Mary 
 stood in a "pony" with me, didn't you, 
 Mary?' 
 
 My father, for once in his life, was fairly 
 staggered, and for a moment or two was 
 actually bereft of speech. Then he turned 
 to me. 
 
 ' Charlie,' he said, * I don't mind confess- 
 ing that, for the last twenty years or so, I've 
 looked upon you as a muff of the deepest 
 dye, and in consequence bringing discredit 
 in a manner on your family. But here you 
 are beating all our heads off — sharp as your 
 brothers and I thought ourselves. To win 
 
The Butt of the Family 203 
 
 the best and prettiest girl in England for a 
 wife and back the winner of the Lincolnshire 
 Handicap at long odds is a double event any 
 man might be proud of. Give me your 
 hand, my boy ! ' 
 
Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 
 
TOM CHUDLEIGH OF GUY'S 
 
 That my old friend and fellow-student, Tom 
 Chudleigh, was exceptionally clever in his 
 profession was beyond a doubt, and that he 
 was one of those men whom people take a 
 fancy to at first sight, I was also well aware 
 of. 
 
 A more popular man, in fact, never 
 walked a hospital than Tom Chudleigh of 
 Guy's. 
 
 They talk to this da}^ at that famous 
 institution, of the athletic feats he was wont 
 to perform in his student days ; how he 
 astonished the driver of a four-wheeled cab, 
 for instance, one afternoon, who had brought 
 a patient to the hospital, by jumping over his 
 horse as he stood at the door. 
 
 What a runner he was too ! Nobody 
 could touch him at a hundred yards. 
 
 One of the numerous stories cherished 
 about him at his hospital was that one day 
 a long-talked-of match for a hundred yards, 
 between Tom and a student at a rival 
 
 207 
 
20 8 Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 
 
 establishment, who had come to town with a 
 rare reputation as a ped., was duly brought 
 off at Lillie Bridge, with the result that the 
 former was just beaten. 
 
 He offered no excuse, but at once 
 challenged his conqueror to another match. 
 It was accepted, with the result, that Tom 
 Chudleigh won this time, after a tremendous 
 race. 
 
 Strange to say, the Guy's men, and Tom's 
 friends generally, never ceased to back their 
 man, notwithstanding his previous defeat, 
 and as the other was naturally a hot favour- 
 ite, a large sum of money changed hands. 
 
 How was it the tables were so completely 
 turned ? 
 
 A robbery, no doubt, you will say to your- 
 self, gentle reader. 
 
 Not a bit of it. 
 
 The reason was simply this. 
 
 Just before running in the first match Tom 
 Chudleigh, being troubled with thirst, indulged 
 in a pint of porter. 
 
 This pint of porter he considered to have 
 lost him the race. He was clever enough, 
 however, to keep this knowledge to himself 
 and make a fresh match as described. Never, 
 indeed, was such a certainty known in the 
 
Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 209 
 
 annals of the cinder path, and his friends 
 who were in the secret ' went for the gloves ' 
 with a vengeance, and profited accordingly. 
 
 Well, as I have said, Tom Chudleigh I 
 knew of old to be both clever and popular, 
 but I confess that when I went down at his 
 
 express invitation to stay with him in 
 
 shire, where he had bought a practice but a 
 little over a year and a half before, to being 
 fairly astonished at the progress he had made 
 in such a short space of time. That he had 
 very little capital of his own I was well aware, 
 and here he was with three horses in his 
 stable, and a hunter as well, a brougham, and 
 all the rest of it. I hoped he wasn't * going 
 it,' as Mr J. L. Toole would say, a trifle 
 too strong, and felt more than half inclined 
 to say so. 
 
 On second thoughts, however, I refrained ; 
 but I could not help, whilst congratulating 
 my old friend on his success, asking him how 
 it was he had ' struck ile ' in so sudden and 
 satisfactory a manner. 
 
 ' Ah, thereby hangs a tale,' replied my host, 
 'and if you care to hear it I'll tell it right 
 away, as they say in California.' 
 
 So first lighting another cigar — ' the night 
 being yet young and to-morrow Sunday,' as 
 
 o 
 
2IO Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 
 
 he facetiously observed — Tom commenced 
 as follows : — 
 
 'Things, as you say, old fellow, look ex- 
 tremely flourishing with yours truly, and I 
 am pleased to say are as flourishing as they 
 look — more so, if anything. 
 
 ' You, I know, are surprised — I don't 
 wonder — and I will venture to say you would 
 be more surprised still had you come down 
 here during my first six months in the place, 
 and witnessed the utter stagnation as regards 
 business. 
 
 ' There were plenty of non-paying patients 
 to be had — there always are, don't you know 
 — but the gentry at first would have none of 
 me, except perhaps to send for in a hurry 
 if one of the servants was taken suddenly 
 ill. 
 
 * There was no mistake about it, the 
 prospect looked dreadfully bad, and though 
 I am not one to "chuck up the sponge," as 
 I think you know, without making a good 
 fight of it, I began at last to think seriously 
 of throwing up the practice — if one could call 
 it such — and trying for a house surgeonship 
 somewhere, unless a change for the better 
 came soon. In fact, I felt that I should be 
 compelled to take some such step. 
 
Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 211 
 
 ' Better that, thought I, than the bankruptcy- 
 court, and that is what it means if things go 
 on much longer hke this. 
 
 ' Well, one afternoon I was smoking a pipe 
 in the stable, looking on at my one horse 
 busily engaged in eating his head off, when 
 my gardener-groom, a dry old stick as ever 
 lived, who was scrubbing and hissing away 
 at a curb-chain, suddenly observed in his 
 brusque way, " T' hounds meet close by here 
 to-morrow, master. Ard gan wi' 'em if I 
 was in thy shoes. 'Twould do the old hoss 
 good as well as thysel'." 
 
 ' Now, I was always fond of hunting from 
 a boy ; having been reared in a hunting 
 country, it would indeed have been odd if I 
 had not been, but 1 had refrained as yet from 
 going out with the hounds down here, being 
 under the impression that a hunting doctor 
 is not appreciated quite so much as he might 
 be by his patients. 
 
 * As, however, in this case I had no patients 
 to consider, there existed no reason why I 
 should not have a turn with the hounds if I 
 felt proper. 
 
 ' John's words, in fact, acted as fuel to the 
 fire already ablaze within me, and to the 
 meet to-morrow I made up my mind to go, 
 
212 Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 
 
 and told my old servant so, whose wooden 
 features relaxed with a broad grin as I bade 
 him good-night and went into the house with 
 a light heart to look up my boots and breeches, 
 articles of wear which hadn't seen the light 
 for many a long day. 
 
 * I could hardly eat my dinner that evening 
 for thinking of the fun of the morrow, and 
 when I went to bed I participated, of course, 
 in the finest run on record, cut down all the 
 field, and hung 'em up to dry, as the saying 
 is, and wound up by being presented with 
 his brush. 
 
 ' If one could always conjure such a run as 
 I rode in my dreams that night, hunting 
 would indeed be a sport worth going for, I 
 can tell you. 
 
 ' Well, I was slightly feverish when I woke 
 in the morning ; however, a cup of good 
 cocoa (tea I look upon as rank poison) and 
 a rasher of bacon piping hot from the fire, 
 soon put me to rights, and when, perched on 
 old Crusader's back, I started for the meet, 
 and felt the balmy air just fanning my cheek, 
 and the horse stepping out gaily under me, 
 arching his neck and playing with his bit 
 from sheer lightheartedness, I felt as much 
 like going as I ever did in my life. 
 
Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 213 
 
 ' The meet was at the house of a great 
 man in those parts, but unfortunately a lover 
 of pheasants rather than foxes ; the conse- 
 quence was that with the exception of a 
 wretched bagman, who was chopped in cover 
 almost immediately, we did not find at all in 
 his demesne. 
 
 ' Everybody felt relieved when, the farce 
 of drawing our host's covers being over, we 
 trotted off to a well-known gorse, where a 
 find was a certainty, so everybody said. 
 
 ' And everybody was right, for hardly had 
 the hounds been thrown in before a whimper 
 was heard, gradually increasing to a grand 
 chorus by the whole strength of the company 
 — pack I should say. Directly afterwards a 
 fine dog fox broke away in view of the whole 
 field. What a scene of excitement it M^as to 
 be sure ! I felt every drop of blood in my 
 body beginning to boil, and as for Crusader 
 I could hardly hold him, 
 
 ' It was all very well for the huntsman to 
 cry out as the hounds came streaming out 
 of cover, "For goodness' sake, gentlemen, 
 hold hard ! do 'ee hold hard ! " It was easier 
 said than done. 
 
 ' The gorse lay right on the top of a hill, 
 and the pace everybody went galloping down 
 
214 Tom Chudleigh of Guy*s 
 
 towards the fence at the bottom was simply 
 appalling. The impetus alone carried half 
 of them over. 
 
 ' As for Crusader, I fancy he thought that 
 he was performing between the flags once 
 more, and expected to make running, judging 
 by the way he laid hold of his bit and tore 
 along. 
 
 * For two fields more, still down hill, away 
 we went, at racing pace, Crusader laying 
 himself out in rare form. The pair of us 
 were always in the front rank, indeed, as 
 close to the hounds as anyone. 
 
 ' One fence more, and then we got into 
 the valley. And now for the first time I saw 
 the huntsman diverge from his course. 
 
 ' I quickly saw the reason. The river, 
 quite unjumpable just there, ran right across 
 our way, and a distant cry from a country- 
 man proclaimed that the fox had crossed it. 
 
 ' In another instant I saw the spray fly 
 into the air as the hounds splashed in in a 
 body. 
 
 ' The river was at its broadest part at that 
 particular spot, and I was just preparing to 
 follow my leader and make for the nearest 
 ford, when a loud cry from behind — the un- 
 mistakable shriek of a woman in distress — 
 
Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 215 
 
 caused me to turn round in my saddle. 
 Pulling up Crusader with some difficulty, I 
 was soon convinced of the cause. 
 
 ' Coming tearing along at a fearful pace 
 was a chestnut horse with a lady on its back, 
 who had evidently not only lost all presence 
 of mind, but control of her steed as well. 
 Another moment or two and the girl would 
 be in the river, and then what would happen ? 
 My mind was made up in a second. 
 
 ' I set Crusader going again, best pace, so 
 that when the chestnut and his fair burden 
 came up on my whip hand I was going as 
 fast, or nearly so, as he was. 
 
 ' " Don't jump off," I cried to the beauti- 
 ful girl on the runaway's back, who, I could 
 see, was frightened to death, "keep your 
 seat and I'll stop him directly ; " and acting 
 up to my words I seized the chestnut's reins 
 close to the bit just as he tried to wrest his 
 head from me, and after a severe tussle 
 managed to pull him up when only a few 
 yards off the river. I was off Crusader's 
 back in a second, and the next instant was 
 assisting the lady, now in a dead faint, on to 
 terra firma. 
 
 ' Well, old boy, there is not much more to 
 be told. 
 
2i6 Tom Chudleigh of Guy's 
 
 * The lady whom I had rescued turned out 
 to be the Lady Blanche Golightly, the only 
 daughter of Lord and Lady Lightfoote, who 
 could not say or do enough to show their 
 gratitude to the preserver, as they were good 
 enough to term it, of their beloved child's 
 life. 
 
 * Yes, my going out with the hounds that 
 day was literally in my case a stepping-stone 
 to fortune. 
 
 * Lor' bless you,' said Tom, with a self- 
 satisfied chuckle, ' no one goes down in this 
 part of the world but Doctor Chudleigh — 
 good, kind, clever Doctor Chudleigh. 
 
 ' I have no time for fox-hunting now, 
 unfortunately,' wound up my old friend, 
 * but I drink to the sport most religiously 
 every night after dinner, and, needless to 
 say, I recommend it as I would medicine 
 to all my livery and dyspeptic patients. Far 
 better for them than blue pill, I tell them, 
 and much more pleasant to take.' 
 
Mistaken Identity 
 
MISTAKEN IDENTITY 
 
 Travelling one day to Liverpool by the 
 London and North- Western Railway, I was 
 surprised, on the train coming to a full stop 
 at one of the intermediate stations, to find 
 the platform occupied by an immense con- 
 course of people evidently waiting with much 
 anxiety the arrival of some person or persons 
 of great importance. 
 
 ' Who could it be ? ' I thought to myself, 
 as I popped my head out of the window. I 
 was not long left in ignorance. 
 
 ' Here he is ! ' suddenly roared a stentorian 
 voice from the crowd, and in the instant a 
 tremendous cheer went up, repeated again 
 and again, as the surging mass of excited 
 humanity, quite regardless of consequences, 
 jostled and elbowed one another in their 
 endeavours to reach a particular carriage in 
 the rear of the train in which was evidently 
 the object of their attention. 
 
 ' Who is it ? ' I called out of the window to 
 an enthusiast, who was wedged tightly in 
 
 219 
 
2 20 Mistaken Identity 
 
 amongst the crowd so that he could not 
 possibly move hand or foot, and was shout- 
 ing himself hoarse. 
 
 ' Oo is it ? ' he replied ; ' Oo is it ? Why, 
 the " Grand Hold Man," to be shewer ! 
 Oo helse should it be, ar should like ter 
 know ! ' 
 
 And casting me a look in which indignation 
 and pity at my ignorance were happily 
 blended, the horny-handed son of toil ejected 
 a stream of tobacco juice from his mouth on 
 to the boot of his next-door neighbour, and 
 went on with his cheering with renewed 
 vigour. 
 
 It was indeed Mr Gladstone and no other, 
 and I am bound to say that as I looked on 
 at the mobbing he was subjected to on his 
 way from his carriage to the interior of the 
 station, and noted the numerous dirty hands 
 thrust out for the right honourable gentleman 
 to shake during his triumphal progress, I 
 could not help saying to myself, ' Well, if 
 this is popularity, I don't envy the possession 
 of it.' The last thing I heard as the train 
 moved slowly out of the station was Mr G.'s 
 unwashed friends clamouring loudly for a 
 speech. 
 
 ' Makin' a rare fuss about the old gentleman, 
 
Mistaken Identity 221 
 
 ain't they, sir?' remarked my only fellow- 
 passenger, an insignificant, little, middle-aged 
 man with a snub nose — quite the snubbest 
 nose I think I ever saw — almost flat indeed, 
 as I settled myself comfortably once more 
 into my corner and proceeded to light a cigar. 
 
 * Ah,' he went on, as I nodded my ac- 
 quiescence, ' I remember once bein' made 
 quite as much of as him — if not more — at a 
 railway station too. 
 
 ' Lor' bless me ! ' went on the little man, 
 giving his fat thigh a hearty smack at the 
 bare recollection, ' I was a great man for half 
 an hour, I can assure you! I'll tell you all 
 about it though, if you will allow me,' he 
 said. 
 
 ' Delighted, I'm sure,' I replied, as indeed 
 I was, for not only is a story — especially a 
 good one — an excellent medium for whiling 
 away the time on a railway journey, but in 
 this instance I was decidedly curious to learn 
 what it was my snub-nosed acquaintance 
 could possibly have done to entitle him to 
 such a very flattering reception from his 
 fellow-men as I had just seen accorded to the 
 Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone. 
 
 ' It was in this way,' said my fellow- 
 traveller, 
 
222 Mistaken Identity 
 
 ' Just fifteen years ago I was traveller — as 
 indeed I am now for that matter — to Messrs 
 Fleecy & Skinner, the well-known wool- 
 staplers in St Mary's Axe — you've heard tell 
 of 'em, no doubt, sir ? No ? well, I wonder 
 at that. First-rate firm I do assure you; 
 and one of the best known in the city of 
 London. 
 
 ' Well, sir, a certain dark afternoon in 
 November, just fifteen years ago, found me 
 at Paddington Station, taking my ticket for 
 Worcester, to which town I was going on 
 behalf of the firm. I noticed as I walked 
 along the platform to the train a lot of queer- 
 looking customers hanging about — the kind 
 of customers you meet with at a railway 
 station on a race day — you understand the 
 sort I mean, no doubt — and you can probably 
 well understand that on selecting a carriage 
 I was a little extra particular in making sure 
 before I entered that none of these gents I 
 have mentioned had taken their seats in it, 
 for I don't know anything more unpleasant, I 
 don't really, than to travel any distance by 
 rail with a lot of the lower order of racing 
 people — the scum of the Turf, as I might 
 say. 
 
 • However, in this instance, the rough- 
 
Mistaken Identity 223 
 
 looking articles I have mentioned evidently 
 had no intention of travelling — at all events 
 by the train I was in — for as we moved off 
 there they were still standing on the plat- 
 form. 
 
 ' And the best place for you, I thought to 
 myself, as I wrapped my rug round my legs, 
 lit a cigar, and proceeded to make myself 
 generally comfortable. 
 
 ' Well, sir, what with smoking, reading, 
 snoozing, an occasional chat with my fellow- 
 passengers, and now and again the applica- 
 tion of a certain comfortable-looking pocket- 
 flask to my lips, I managed to beguile the 
 journey to Worcester pleasantly enough ; 
 indeed the train arrived at its destination 
 before even I thought it was due. 
 
 ' As we glided slowly into the station, how- 
 ever, what a sight met my eyes ! 
 
 ' The platform was crammed with a mob 
 of people, all craning their necks and staring 
 into the windows of the carriages as they 
 passed, as if their lives depended upon 
 finding someone they were in search of: 
 people, too, strange to say, bearing a strong 
 family likeness everyone of them to the 
 gentry I had congratulated myself at hav- 
 ing left behind me at Paddington ; such a 
 
2 24 Mistaken Identity 
 
 lot of ruffians, indeed, as I had seldom 
 seen. 
 
 ' Who on earth can they be looking for ? 
 I thought to myself, as I stood hesitatingly 
 at the window of the carriage, half afraid to 
 follow the example of my fellow-passengers, 
 who had already alighted, for I am naturally 
 a rather nervously-disposed person, I feared 
 also for the safety of sundry parcels, the 
 property of my employers, I had along with 
 me in the carriage. 
 
 ' Well, as I have just said, I stood at the 
 open door, hardly knowing what to be at, 
 looking about me in vain for a porter to 
 come to the rescue, and wondering when the 
 horde of vagabonds on the platform would 
 find the long-lost brother or other relative 
 they were in search of, when I was roused 
 from my reverie in a most unexpected and 
 disagreeable manner. 
 
 ' A great hulking fellow, whom I had 
 before noticed as being especially active in 
 prying into all the carriages, suddenly 
 halted in front of me. One glance at. my 
 face was apparently sufficient, for with a yell, 
 or rather I should say, bellow, that you 
 could have heard a mile away, of " 'Ere 'e 
 is ! " he rushed forward, gasped me roughly 
 
Mistaken Identity 225 
 
 by the arm, and hauled me without further 
 ceremony on to the platform. The next 
 instant, and I found myself the centre of an 
 enthusiastic mob of my fellow-men, all 
 desirous, apparently, of shaking hands with 
 me at once. What with the handshaking, 
 the claps on the back I received, and the 
 shouting and cheering, I felt more than half 
 stupefied. 
 
 ' Then someone demanded three cheers 
 for " The Pet," which was responded to 
 with the greatest enthusiasm again and 
 again, whilst the handshaking and the 
 clappings on my unfortunate back went on 
 more vigorously than ever. 
 
 ' Who was the Pet ? 
 
 ' Was I the Pet ? Oh ! it must be 
 some hideous dream. I had gone to 
 sleep in the train and was not yet awake, 
 evidently. 
 
 ' The dream, the hideous dream, went on 
 accordingly. A voice, a husky, dram-drink- 
 ing voice, suddenly announced that the 
 " kerridge " was ready. 
 
 ' In a second I found myself lifted from 
 the pile of luggage on which I had been 
 seated all this time, hoisted on the shoulders 
 of two stalwart ruffians, and conveyed to a 
 
 p 
 
2 26 Mistaken Identity 
 
 carriage drawn up outside the station, in 
 which I was deposited. 
 
 ' Three of my new friends followed me, 
 and to the strains of " See the conquering 
 hero comes," we moved off at a good pace 
 for goodness knows where, the crowd 
 running alongside and cheering and holding 
 out their grimy hands for me to shake all the 
 time, until my wTist was nearly dislocated. 
 
 ' At last, after what seemed to me an inter- 
 minable time, we came to a full stop outside 
 a large public-house. 
 
 '"Where are we.-*" I inquired faintly of 
 the man who sat beside me. 
 
 ' Where are we ? Wot, don't yer re- 
 member " The Champion's Rest " ? was the 
 reply, in a tone of astonishment. 
 
 ' " Blimy, but that there fall over the ropes 
 as Bill gave yer in the fifth round must ha' 
 shook up yer brain pan to some toon if yer 
 don't remember the old crib yer was alius ser 
 fond of." 
 
 ' I said no more, but resigned myself to 
 my fate, quite prepared for anything that 
 might happen. 
 
 ' I must have alighted from the carriage, 
 though I was not aware of having done so, 
 for I found myself in a hot, gas-lit room. 
 
Mistaken Identity 227 
 
 drinking about the worst champagne I ever 
 drank in my life, and listening to the land- 
 lord — evidently an ex-pugilist, to judge from 
 his appearance — who in a highly-seasoned 
 speech was proposing the health of the 
 "Worcester-sheer Pet," as he expressed it. 
 
 ' Could I be the Worcester-sheer Pet ? 
 the party who the landlord had just de- 
 scribed as the gamest little cock as ever put 
 "'is dooks up in a twenty-four foot ring" — 
 the Worcester-sheer Pet, who had just 
 placed all his former achievements in the 
 shade by his victory over Tom the Tinman, 
 thereby earning for himself the proud title of 
 champion of the light-weights ? 
 
 ' Of course I was, for here was I standing 
 on the table, and returning thanks for the 
 kind manner in which my health had been 
 proposed. 
 
 * Oh, yes, I was the Worcestershire Pet, 
 and no other, that was very certain. 
 
 ' I had finished returning thanks amidst 
 tumultuous applause, and had resumed my 
 seat at the table, quite at home by this time 
 in the character of a distinguished member 
 of the "fancy," when a renewed burst of 
 cheering outside suddenly arrested every- 
 body's attention. 
 
22 8 Mistaken Identity 
 
 ' The landlord went out in person to 
 ascertain the cause of the commotion. 
 
 ' In something less than five minutes he 
 returned accompanied by a little, flat-nosed 
 man, attired in the loudest suit of dittos I 
 ever saw, who indignantly requested to have 
 pointed out to him the " blighter " wot had 
 bin passin' hisself off for him — him, the one 
 and only Worcester-sheer Pet. 
 
 ' In vain I excused myself, said that the 
 mistake arose from no fault of mine, etc. 
 
 ' I was denounced not only by the Pet, but 
 by the whole room, including the landlord, 
 in language of the very sultriest discription 
 as an impostor of the deepest dye. 
 
 * Thino-s beofan to look serious now. I 
 was beginning to fear for my personal safety, 
 when luckily a dispute ending in blows 
 cropping up between two of the company 
 present, drew off the attention of the room 
 from myself, a fact of which I took full ad- 
 vantage, you may be certain, by " cutting my 
 lucky " by the door just as every symptom 
 of a free fight was setting in. 
 
 ' How I did get chaffed in the commercial 
 room that night to be sure, and worse still 
 at the office when I got back to town. 
 
 ' They christened me the " Worcester- 
 
Mistaken Identity 229 
 
 shire Pet" on the spot, and by that I've 
 been known on circuit ever since, and shall 
 be to my dying day, I s'pose. 
 
 ' One thing is very certain,' wound up my 
 snub-nosed fellow-traveller, with a comical 
 shake of his head, ' I never want to be taken 
 for a great man again, never ! ' 
 
The Voice of the Charmer 
 
THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER 
 
 Part I 
 
 ' Upon my word it's too bad ! ' exclaimed 
 Mr Mainwaring, as having wished every- 
 body good morning he sat down to the 
 breakfast table, and proceeded, before 
 commencing that meal, to glance through 
 his letters according to custom. ' It really 
 is too bad ! ' he repeated, crimsoning with 
 indignation, and giving an angry stamp of 
 his foot, in so doing treading on the foot of 
 Jumbo, his wife's pet pug, and causing that 
 much-pampered animal to give utterance to 
 a loud yell, and retreat further under the 
 table to the shelter of his mistress's petti- 
 coats. 
 
 ' My dear,' said Mrs Mainwaring, pausing 
 In the act of pouring out the Squire's coffee, 
 ' what is the matter now ? Nothing wrong 
 with Sunbeam's little foal, I do trust.' 
 
 ' No, my dear, not so bad as that,' 
 answered her husband ; ' but quite bad 
 233 
 
2 34 The Voice of the Charmer 
 
 enough, in all conscience. It's that dreadful 
 fellow Wilder, at the Lea Farm, again. I 
 wish he had never come near the place, 
 with all my heart.' 
 
 ' Horrid man ! ' agreed Mrs Main waring. 
 ' I can't bear the sight of him. What has he 
 done now, dear ? ' 
 
 ' Done ? ' exclaimed her husband. ' Why, 
 stuck up barbed wire all over his farm, to 
 be sure, and refuses to remove it on any 
 pretence whatever, so Higgins writes me 
 word. 
 
 ' Here we have the hounds coming- on 
 Thursday, and if they find in Nightingale 
 Wood, as they are perfectly certain to do, 
 for I know for a fact there are two or three 
 foxes there, they are equally certain to run 
 right across his land, and a pretty kettle of 
 fish will be the result. 
 
 * Half the hounds maimed, and men and 
 horses tumbling about in every direction. 
 
 ' Oh ! I can't bear the thoughts of it. 
 
 ' I shall simply have to ask Hartopp not 
 to draw there, and a pretty fool I shall 
 look. I really don't know what to do about 
 it' 
 
 ' Why not go and see the man yourself, 
 and try and bring him to reason ? ' suggested 
 
The Voice of the Charmer 235 
 
 his wife. ' Surely, my dear, he would listen 
 to you ? ' 
 
 'Listen to vie?' ejaculated the S([uire. 
 ' Not he. Besides, I know perfectly well 
 what would be the result. He would meet 
 my arguments with some of his Republican 
 sentiments, and I should lose my temper and 
 make a fool of myself 
 
 ' Well,' sighed his wife, * it's a very great 
 pity, I'm sure. I only wish I knew what 
 was best to be done. But never mind now, 
 dear,' she added soothingly, 'get on with 
 your breakfast, and then afterwards you can 
 speak to Higgins again on the subject, and 
 perhaps you will be able to devise some plan 
 between you for bringing this horrid man 
 Wilder to reason.' 
 
 ' And, pray, who may this horrid man, 
 Wilder, be ? ' inquired a young and very 
 pretty girl, who at this juncture entered the 
 room and sat herself down at the breakfast 
 table, after kissing both Mr Mainwaring and 
 his wife lovingly and wishing them ' Good 
 morninof.' 
 
 The Squire looked affectionately into the 
 fair questioner's face ere he answered her. 
 
 ' Don't ask, Gladys,' said he, laughingly; 
 'don't ask if you love me. He has already 
 
236 The Voice of the Charmer 
 
 spoiled my breakfast for me, and I feel per- 
 fectly certain that were I to tell you all about 
 him he would spoil yours, and that would be 
 a great pity, eh, my pretty niece ? ' 
 
 'It would, indeed,' retorted the girl, 'for 
 I have such an appetite as never was. 
 Joking apart, though, I am really curious, 
 Uncle William,' she continued, 'so I will 
 compromise with you — eat my breakfast first 
 and you shall tell me afterwards. Don't you 
 think that a very fair arrangement, sir ? ' 
 
 The Squire agreed at once to the terms, 
 as, indeed, he would have to anything pro- 
 posed by his favourite niece. 
 
 The only child of his one sister, lately 
 dead, Gladys Onslow had taken up her per- 
 manent abode at Charlton Towers only three 
 weeks ago, during which short period she 
 had managed to convert every individual 
 member of the establishment into being her 
 devoted slave, including her uncle and aunt, 
 who, childless as they were, quite looked 
 upon her as their daughter. 
 
 As for the Squire, he was perfectly help- 
 less without her, and Miss Gladys was his 
 constant companion wherever he went. 
 
 He declared she was a better judge of 
 stock than his bailiff himself, and as for her 
 
The Voice of the Charmer 237 
 
 knowledge of horse-flesh, who was there 
 about the place who could compete with her ? 
 And how she rode, too! Many and many 
 a time, when accompanying his niece in her 
 rides, did her uncle regret that his salad days 
 were over, and that he was no longer able to 
 pilot her over this place and that instead of 
 looking on, from the broad back of his 
 favourite cob, whilst she larked about at her 
 own free will, for she was uncommonly 
 fond of riding over a country, was Miss 
 Gladys. 
 
 As her groom said, ' The fence was never 
 made yet that could stop his young lady 
 when hounds were running.' 
 
 True to his promise, after breakfast the 
 Squire unbosomed himself to his niece with 
 regard to his refractory tenant at the Lea 
 Farm — 'the only farm, by the way, my dear,' 
 he added, ' where I have not introduced you, 
 for the very good reason why, because I 
 have such a strong personal dislike to its 
 tenant. I even avoid shooting over the place 
 as much as possible, because I can't bear the 
 sight of the fellow. Just fancy that, my 
 dear, afraid even to walk over my own pro- 
 perty — my own property, forsooth ! Nasty, 
 cantankerous wretch ! ' wound up the Squire 
 
238 The Voice of the Charmer 
 
 in his wrath. ' I wish somebody would 
 knock him on the head. I do, indeed ! ' 
 
 ' Fie, for shame, sir ! ' exclaimed his niece, 
 laughing, putting her pretty hand over his 
 mouth as she spoke. 
 
 ' And his name is Wilder ? ' she continued, 
 'and I knew such a dear old man of that 
 name years ago — he was one of poor papa's 
 tenants, indeed. 
 
 'I wonder now,' mused she, 'could it be 
 the same man ? He left to go to Australia, 
 so I understood — for I was only a little girl 
 at the time. And we were such friends too ! 
 
 ' Uncle,' exclaimed the girl, a flush of ex- 
 citement coming over her face, ' if you don't 
 mind, I will ride over this very morning and 
 see for myself 
 
 ' If it is the same man — and I have a very 
 great idea it is, do you know — I will under- 
 take that every bit of that horrid wire fencing 
 is taken down between this and to-morrow 
 morning. Stay, I will even have a bet with 
 you on the subject. Come, sir, what odds 
 will you give me ? ' 
 
 ' I won't bet. I utterly decline to bet, you 
 little gambler,' returned her laughing uncle, 
 ' for I hate losing my money, but I will tell 
 you what I will do, my Gladys, if you only 
 
The Voice of the Charmer 239 
 
 succeed in your undertaking, I will give you 
 the very best hunter, or the prettiest bracelet 
 that can be bought for money. I believe 
 it's a real "good thing" for you, too, you 
 minx, you,' he added, pulling her ear, 'for 
 now I come to think of it, I believe I did 
 hear that this objectionable tenant of mine 
 had been in Australia before he came down 
 here to sit upon my shoulders like the old 
 man of the sea.' 
 
 * Don't say another word, dear uncle,' cried 
 Miss Gladys. ' I haven't my betting book 
 about me, so I seal the bargain with this kiss ' 
 (suiting the action to the word), ' and now 
 I'm off to put my habit on and order my 
 horse. 
 
 ' Good-bye, dear, we shall meet again — 
 not on the Rialto, but at luncheon : ' and 
 bestowing another kiss on the enraptured old 
 gentleman, the lively girl rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 Part II 
 
 The stable clock was just striking half-past 
 one, simultaneously with the rumbling of the 
 gong announcing the fact that luncheon was 
 
240 The Voice of the Charmer 
 
 ready, as Gladys Onslow with her attendant 
 groom came cantering through the park. 
 
 The Squire, who had been waiting for her 
 for the last half hour, seized a hat and 
 rushed hastily out into the stable yard, 
 where he knew she would dismount, to await 
 her coming with mingled feelings of delight 
 at her return and curiosity to know how 
 she had succeeded on her mission of 
 diplomacy with his refractory tenant. 
 
 ' Here I am, uncle, safe and sound, you 
 see, and I've had, oh ! such a lark! Brilliant's 
 legs are full of thorns, I fear, poor dear,' 
 exclaimed happy Gladys, her face flushed 
 with pleasure and excitement, and looking 
 prettier than ever. 
 
 Off her horse she jumped in her accustomed 
 impetuous fashion, and having administered 
 her usual hug she took her uncle's arm and 
 ordered him to take her into luncheon at 
 once. 
 
 ' Well, and how did you get on, my child ? ' 
 inquired the Squire. 
 
 ' Not a word, sir, until I get into the 
 dining-room, and then you shall hear it all,' 
 was the fair tyrant's reply. 
 
 'Why, by Jove! I do verily believe 
 you've got over that old curmudgeon, you 
 
The Voice of the Charmer 241 
 
 artful little minx, you ! ' exclaimed her uncle, 
 in great glee, hurrying her into the house 
 as quickly as possible, all agog to hear her 
 news. 
 
 Through some back passages they went, 
 and then opening a green baize door found 
 themselves in the entrance hall. 
 
 ' Come now,' said the Squire, as they 
 entered the dining-room, where Mrs Main- 
 waring was waiting for them ; ' I won't wait 
 a moment longer ; so tell your aunt and myself 
 all about the result of your ride this instant, 
 miss, or I'll retract my promise of the 
 diamond bracelet I made this morning.' 
 
 ' Listen, then, ladies and gentlemen — or, 
 rather, I should say, aunt and uncle,' said the 
 fair Gladys, standing in the centre of the 
 hearthrug and raising her whip to ensure 
 silence. 
 
 ' What should you say if, paying a visit 
 to the Lea Farm to-morrow morning, you 
 were to find that every vestige of barbed 
 wire had disappeared from its fences ? 
 Would you allow that the persuasive powers 
 of your devoted niece were somewhat of a 
 higher order than usual ? ' 
 
 'By Jove, indeed I should!' burst forth 
 her uncle. ' But you don't mean to say it's 
 
 Q 
 
242 The Voice of the Charmer 
 
 a fact, Gladys, that you have actually got 
 that old bear to act as you say, do you ? ' 
 
 ' Indeed, I do, uncle ; and he's not a bear 
 at all, allow me to say — only rather rough, 
 that's all, poor man. Old John Wilder is 
 as good a fellow as ever breathed, if you 
 only humour him a little — as you must in 
 future, uncle, if only for my sake.' 
 
 ' Well, wonders will never cease, that's 
 very certain,' said her uncle ; ' and how on 
 earth you managed it,' he continued, ' I can't 
 for the life of me imaoine.' 
 
 ' I will tell you,' said Miss Gladys. 
 ' Arrived at the ogre's castle, having care- 
 fully kept to the sides of the footpath all the 
 way, partly from diplomacy, partly because 
 I did not want either Brilliant or myself to 
 be annoyed by barbed wire, I inquired of the 
 maid-servant who came to the door if Mr 
 Wilder was at home. He was round in the 
 straw yard, she said, and she would go and 
 fetch him if I would wait a moment. 
 
 ' I waited accordingly, and presently the 
 ogre hurriedly appeared. " How do you do, 
 Mr Wilder ? " I said. " Your servant, miss," 
 answered he, his grim features relaxing a 
 little, I fancied, as he looked me over. "You 
 don't recollect me, I see," said I, "but you 
 
The Voice of the Charmer 243 
 
 and I are very old friends for all that, Mr 
 Wilder." "Old friends! why, who be 'ee, 
 then, in the name o' fortin' ? " he replied, 
 looking at me so hard, oh ! so hard, uncle. 
 " Have you quite forgotten little Gladys 
 Onslow, who you used to be so kind to 
 when you lived at Hazeldean Farm down in 
 Warwickshire?" "Forgotten? No!" he 
 almost roared, "and never shall, that's more ! 
 And you re her? Coom, off your horse this 
 instant, my pretty, and into the house and 
 have a talk wi' me over old times." Oh, 
 uncle, the poor old man, do you know, was 
 so pleased. When I got off my horse, and 
 when he held out his hand and 1 not only 
 took it, but gave him a kiss into the bargain, 
 he actually shed tears, he did indeed. 
 Well, I went in and had a glass of milk, and 
 we had such a talk of old times as never 
 was. And when we had finished, I told him 
 what I had come about. He listened at- 
 tentively, and then said, "And so you want 
 the stuff" — the darned stuff, he called it, 
 uncle — down, do 'ee, my dear ? " I replied 
 that it certainly would please me very much, 
 and you and everybody else as well. " Don't 
 say another word," he exclaimed, "every bit 
 of it shall be off my farm before nightfall. 
 
244 The Voice of the Charmer 
 
 I only wish you had got something harder 
 to ask me." 
 
 'There, uncle,' wound up Miss Gladys, 
 ' that's how it was done, as the conjurers 
 say. Now tell me what you think of my 
 talents as a diplomatist, and above all, your 
 opinion of my dear old friend, John Wilder.' 
 
 ' My dear,' replied the Squire, kissing his 
 niece, ' I think you ought to be Prime 
 Minister, at least, and as for your friend John 
 Wilder, my opinion of him is altogether 
 altered. We'll both of us ride over and see 
 him again this very afternoon, and I'll thank 
 him myself. 
 
 ' And now,' said her uncle, rubbing his 
 hands, ' which is it to be, Gladys ? a new 
 hunter or a diamond bracelet ? ' 
 
 THE END 
 
 Colston &" Coy. Limited, Printtrs, Edinburgh. 
 
G^^'^^ 
 
 A MESSRS L 
 
 TREHERNE & CO. 
 
 LTD. 
 
 are publishing the following 
 
 New Books, which will be 
 
 ready next month 
 
THIRTEEN WAYS HOME' 
 
 BY 
 
 E. NESBIT 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Parrot and the Melodrama 
 
 A Question of Conscience 
 
 The Nightingale 
 
 Darkening Counsel 
 
 Nicholas Kyriel's Tomb 
 
 A Manly Girl 
 
 G. H. & I. 
 
 A Perfect Stranger 
 
 The Garland of Oak Leaves 
 
 The Eye of X. J. X. 
 
 Miss Peckitt's Pincushion 
 
 The Christmas Pudding 
 
 George's Monument 
 
^DROSS' 
 
 BY 
 
 HAROLD TREMAYNE 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 This is a problem novel by a new author. It is a difficult 
 subject to deal with, but Mr Tremayne acquits himself with 
 all the art of an experienced writer. The story opens in a 
 flat near Charing Cross, where Gertrude Villiers, a fascinat- 
 ing young woman, who is living under the protection of a 
 wealthy stockbroker, is entertaining a party of friends at 
 dinner. As she speeds her last guest, the door of the flat 
 opposite opens, and Frank Andrews, a talented young clergy- 
 man, asks her for a few minutes' conversation. She grants 
 his request, and he proceeds to seek her interest on behalf 
 of a parishioner, who is ill, and starving, having been 
 betrayed and deserted. On the impulse of the moment 
 Gertrude Villiers boldly declares what she is herself, and 
 bids her visitor leave her. He does so, not daring to tell 
 her the true object of his visit — namely, a frank and honest 
 avowal of love. When he is back in his own room, he 
 recognises that he has played the role of a hypocrite, and 
 determines that next morning he will tell his neighbour 
 that for months he has loved her at a distance, and that he 
 wishes her to become his wife. He does so, and she accepts 
 his offer of marriage. It is around the married hfe of the 
 young couple that the whole interest of the story centres, 
 and more extensively with which it would be unfair to deal 
 here. It is sufficient to say that the story is well told, and 
 that the curtain rings down on a dramatic climax. The 
 characters are carefully drawn, and never once does the 
 interest flag. The conversations are clever, and the study 
 of character is sound and worthy of attention. 
 
5 
 
 The Case of a Man with his Wife 
 
 BY 
 
 THEO GIFT 
 
 Price 3^. 6^. 
 
 This story is laid in the clos ing days of the eighteenth 
 century, when, for a brief period, England was at peace 
 with her Continental neighbours ; and when the hero, 
 a certain Viscount Dunlevy, scholar, sailor, and high- 
 minded gentleman, returning from a cruise in the 
 Mediterranean, has the good, or evil fortune, to rescue 
 a beautiful girl from a position of great peril on the 
 Purbeck coast, and falls desperately in love with her. 
 At first his wooing goes askew. The disparity between 
 his position and lovely May Thatchell, who despite the 
 grace and refinement which set her apart from her own 
 kinsfolk, is but " a sprout of the fishwives' stock," after 
 all being m her eyes an insuperable objection to her 
 accepting the honours which Lord Dunlevy would fain 
 lay at her feet ; but a chill caught on the night of her 
 rescue, has aff'ected her lungs. She becomes very ill, 
 and, unable any longer to deny her own passionate 
 love for her gallant suitor, she yields to his entreaties. 
 They are married, and directly afterwards set sail again 
 in his yacht for the sunny South. Here, however, their 
 happiness, unclouded at first, is of brief duration. 
 
 The dramatic episodes that follow are powerfully told, 
 and the plot is extremely original. It may be mentioned 
 that the story, which is quaintly written, is narrated by 
 an old servant fifty years after the deaths of the parties 
 concerned. 
 
EAST OF SUEZ 
 
 BY 
 
 ALICE PERRIN 
 
 Price ds. 
 
 In this work Alice Perrin, who has already won a place 
 for herself amongst present-day writers, depicts the 
 tragic phases of Anglo-Indian life, as well as the 
 romantic and mysterious. Together with studies of 
 native character and superstition, she has included 
 ghost stories, love stories, and stories of the gruesome 
 order — things which have been seen, felt and heard, 
 some say — imagined, others declare, whilst they were 
 under the fascinating influence of the Eastern atmo- 
 sphere. Some of them are just simple stories of the 
 danger, temptations and loneliness which many Anglo- 
 Indians are obliged to face, and they are all true pictures 
 of the life and country. 
 
 A well-known writer, who has been privileged to 
 read the work in question, wrote as follows : — 
 
 'The whole collection maintains an even level of 
 excellence. There is not that inequality one frequently 
 finds in a volume of short stories. The author has 
 caught the atmosphere of the East, and one feels it in 
 her work. She does not weary the reader with pro- 
 longed passages of description, but suggests a complete 
 picture in a few words, which is better. Some of her 
 stories show considerable power in the region of the 
 weird and the supernatural, and have that quality of 
 horror which ensures their being read and talked about. 
 I felt constrained, detached stories as they are, to read 
 the greater number right through at one sitting.' 
 
The Woman of Orchids 
 
 BY 
 
 MARVIN DANA 
 
 Price 3^. 6^. 
 
 This story, which will be published at the end of 
 October, is of a highly sensational character. The 
 scene of 'The Woman of Orchids' is laid in South 
 America, a country brimful of natural beauty and 
 grandeur of scenery. The characters hold the interest 
 throughout, and the descriptions are powerful to a 
 degree. The following passage, recounting a fight 
 between two droves of wild horses, is a fair example of 
 Mr Marvin Dana's marvellous descriptive powers : — 
 
 ' Even as he looked, the two troops met with a 
 clamour of shrieked gamuts. Half the horses were 
 overthrown in the fury of the first shock. Most of them, 
 however, were on their feet again after a moment, 
 although some remained prostrate, to be crushed by 
 the trampling violence of the others. The battle raged 
 fearfully. The weapons were teeth and hoofs, and 
 deadly enough they were. Horse after horse fell in 
 the struggle, and those that continued on their feet were 
 bruised and bleeding. The wrath of the beasts showed 
 awfully in their ears, strained far back, in their burning, 
 mad eyes, in the snarl of their mouths. Shrieking, 
 kicking, biting, the horde of infuriated brutes swayed 
 backward and forward for almost half-an-hour before 
 their ferocity seemed to yield one tittle to the terrific 
 toil. 
 
Reminiscences of a 
 
 Gentleman Horse Dealer 
 
 BV 
 
 HAROLD TREMAYNE 
 
 In this clever book, which will also be included in the 
 Shilling Sporting Series, Mr Tremayne recounts some 
 of the experiences of a dealer in horses. They are 
 chattily told in narrative form, and the reader will find 
 Mr Sharp an interesting personality. Perhaps his ideas 
 of honour may appear a trifle lax to some people, but, 
 nevertheless, his goodness of heart and powers of 
 observation stamp him as above the rut of mankind. 
 Mr Funkit is a well-drawn character sketch, whilst the 
 hunting run, described in the earlier portion of the book, 
 will strike the reader who has ever participated in such 
 a field day as thrilling and true. Mr Tremayne has a 
 story to tell, and he tells it shortly and simply. There 
 is no straining after effect, and consequently the book 
 breathes the life it deals with. 
 
 Messrs Treherne & Co., Ltd., will, during the next 
 few months, publish works by Mr Herbert Compton, 
 the author of 'The Inimitable Mrs Massingham,' and 
 by several other well-known sporting writers. 
 
9 
 READY SHORTLY 
 
 ^TATTY' 
 
 A Study of a Young Girl's Life 
 
 BY 
 
 PETER ERASER 
 
 Price 6s. 
 
 'Tatty,' the new novel by Peter Fraser, which Messrs 
 A. Treherne & Co., Limited, will publish at the end of 
 October, is, in many respects, a great and remarkable 
 work. 
 
 It takes as its heroine a girl brought up by a father, 
 who educates her in a scholastic sense, it is true, but 
 who neglects the deeper education of life and experience, 
 with the result that Tatty arrives at womanhood quite 
 ignorant of the world's ways. From this spring the 
 tragic issues — the proposed psychological problems 
 which form the deeply absorbing plot and studies in 
 temperament, the basis of the book. 
 
 'Tatty' is one of those profoundly poignant human 
 documents that lift the work from the level of ordinary 
 everyday fiction, almost to the region of real life, with 
 its ever-recurring tragic under-note — its defeated hopes 
 — its crushed aspirations. Tatty herself is a victim of 
 a fate more cruel than death — of a destiny more intoler- 
 able than marriage without love, or religion without 
 happiness. 
 
 ' Tatty ' should be ordered from the libraries and 
 booksellers at the end of October. It will be much 
 discussed, for it deals with the true psychology of the 
 heart and its emotions — of a girl's life and its mysteries. 
 
lO 
 
 READY SHORTLY 
 
 PUBLISHED IN 
 
 TREHERNE'S SHILLING SPORTING 
 SERIES 
 
 TROM DOWNS TO SHIRES' 
 
 A Hunting Novel 
 
 BY 
 
 R. ALWYN 
 
 The title is indicative of tlie contents of this book, 
 which will be ready shortly, and which will be included 
 in Treherne's Shilling Sporting Series. In the course 
 of the story we are introduced to a sweet personality in 
 the heroine, an innocent country girl, living down in 
 Sussex, and hunting on the hills. She is captivated by 
 a warrior from the grass countries, which ultimately 
 become her field of sport also. There is an interesting 
 tale of love and adventure running through the book, 
 and, apart from the plot of the story, which keeps up a 
 breezy interest throughout, the writer's descriptions of 
 hunting runs are well worth reading. They are so life- 
 like, so true to nature, in detail, that they must appeal 
 irresistibly to all lovers of sport, while the story is not so 
 brimful of horse and hound that there is no room for 
 sentiment. Right through the book the interest is 
 maintained, and to all lovers of sport the work should 
 afford amusement and education. 
 
II 
 
 READY SHORTLY 
 
 A BOOK FOR CHILDREN 
 
 Behind the Wainscot 
 
 BY 
 
 CICELY FULCHER 
 
 Price TyS. 6d. 
 
 A CHARMINGLY fanciful story for nursery children, full 
 of the adventures of a fairy-like little girl, and enlivened 
 by the quaint remarks of a mouse, whose gratitude to 
 her for saving it from an untimely end at the hands of 
 the cook, knows no bounds, and who, with his two 
 beady-eyed and furry friends, plays a large part in the 
 tale. The book cannot fail to be a great favourite with 
 the children, but their elders and betters may also 
 enjoy this truthful and pretty picture of child character, 
 as they follow the dainty little heroine through the 
 sufferings inflicted on a nervous child by a harsh and 
 unfeeling nurse. The author shows her love and 
 knowledge of young people in the tenderness with which 
 she sympathises with Evelyn's fears, and her insigh 
 into child character, by making the timid little girl 
 overcome her fears, and prove herself no coward. Like 
 Miss Cicely Fulcher's first book ' Father's Wife,' 
 ' Behind the Wainscot,' though a simple and childish 
 story, is bright and engaging, and will be a most welcome 
 Christmas gift for little folks. 
 
READY SHORTLY 
 
 A BOOK FOR CHILDREN 
 
 UNCLE HARRY'S GATE 
 
 By CICELY FULCHER 
 
 Price 3^. 6d. 
 The charm of this story Ues in a well-woven mystery, 
 A naval cadet and his brother and sister start in high 
 spirits on a visit to an unknown uncle, whose hobby it 
 is to fill his grounds with rare plants and animals, whose 
 sanctuaries are jealously enclosed. The happy ardour 
 of the trio, however, is soon damped, by the depressed 
 demeanour of their cousins, and the tyranny of Uncle 
 Harry, which drives them to exasperation, over the 
 question of — ' who leaves the gate open ? ' This is a 
 serious question, for on more than one occasion, Uncle 
 Harry, on emerging from his orchid house, finds Zarifa, 
 the Spanish donkey, and her boon companion, Jim, 
 browsing on his cherished seedlings, and trampling 
 down his choicest plants. The denouement is skilful 
 and unexpected, and the young readers, who have 
 followed the story with deepest interest, will be as much 
 surprised as Uncle Harry himself when the real culprit 
 is discovered. Teddy Harcourt and his brother and 
 sister, the honest, happy children of kind and wise 
 parents, are well contrasted by the author's sympathetic 
 pen, with the crushed and harassed cousins of this 
 unhappy home. Both are real boys and girls, full of the 
 buoyancy and the excitement of youth, with here and 
 there those deeper emotions hinted, which in every 
 child foreshadow the woman or the man. 
 
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