THE DEALERS.
"Yes, sir, he's a niceish little horse, up to a goodish bit of weight too, and carries a lady. My daughter rides him often, and she says he's as handy as a kitten."
There is nothing very remarkable about the speaker, and but for the undeniable bit of "good stuff" he is riding, one would scarcely notice him in the crowd assembled at the meet.
As he turns half round to make the foregoing remark, allowing his right hand to rest on his horse's flank, a dark bay of wondrous shape, one may perhaps be struck with the peculiar look of shrewdness displayed in his eyes, and notice the ease with which he sits in his saddle; but beyond that there is nothing at first sight to mark a difference from any other man in the field.
But Mr. James Holden the Dealer, more generally known as Old Jimmy Holden, is something out of the common.
First, he is one of the best judges of a horse in England, with some forty years' experience to back him.
Secondly, he is a man of the keenest perception. In two seconds he will sum you up as well as if he had been acquainted with you for a lifetime, and knows intuitively at a glance how much you are "good for."
Thirdly, he is one of the best and neatest riders imaginable, with a supreme contempt for such superfluous matter as nerves. Being possessed of hands of silk and will of iron, he can hand a raw young 'un over the stiffest country in the hunt, and make him perform as well as a thoroughly seasoned hunter.
Lastly, he is absolutely trustworthy—that is to say, if you tell him that you want a horse and cannot afford more than such-and-such a sum, he will supply you with the best article that can be got for the money, frankly telling you any defects, and leaving himself but a fair margin of profit. If, however, a purchaser thinks himself very knowing and pits himself against Jimmy Holden, it is long odds that that bumptious individual, the purchaser, will find himself in the wrong box, for Jimmy takes a pleasure in getting what he calls "six to four the best of a knowing card."
He displays a vast amount of esprit de corps concerning his own hunt, always keeping the pick of the bunch for some of his Bullshire customers. "You see," he says with a smile, "I meet them all out in the field, and if I was to come across any of my gents riding one of my 'osses that I knew to be a bad 'un, why I could not say good-morning with a free conscience or a light heart. That horse would be always staring me in the face, and making me uncomfortable."
To outsiders, however, he does not always show so much compunction, as the following anecdote will show. There was a young cotton lord who one season came down to stay with one of the members of the Bullshire for a month's hunting, and, being in want of a horse, was advised to go to Mr. Holden. Exceedingly knowing in matters of horseflesh did this young gentleman consider himself, and as he was rolling in wealth he also gave himself pretty considerable airs.
Accordingly he despatched the following epistle to Freshfield, where Jimmy's house and stables were situated: "Mr. Tinsel, being in want of a hunter, and hearing that James Holden is an honest dealer, will thank him to bring over two or three for his inspection to-morrow to The Shrubbery. Mr. Tinsel begs to say he requires a good horse and not a screw."
Now old Jimmy Holden was not accustomed to this sort of thing. He had, with his father before him, become quite an institution in the Bullshire country, and everybody knowing what a right-down good sportsman he was, always treated him more as an equal than anything else, or at all events with respect and in good-fellowship. Indeed it was considered rather a privilege to buy one of his horses, and his company in the field was always sought after, where his fund of anecdote and quaint humour were wont to keep everybody in a roar. Therefore it may be imagined that the letter rubbed him up the wrong way in no slight degree, and not a word did he vouchsafe in reply.
The next time the hounds met, Mr. Tinsel, who was riding one of his friend's horses, came up to him and said, in a most offensive way: "You are Holden, the horse-dealer, ain't you?"
"My name is Holden, sir," replied old Jimmy, looking over the top of the young snob's head.
"Well, then, why the devil did not you answer my letter? I want a horse, and told you to bring me over two or three to look at," continued young Manchester. "Is that your sort of way of doing business? because it ain't mine."
"I presume, sir, your name is Tinsel. If so, I beg to inform you that I am not in the habit of bringing over horses for strangers to look at. If you like to drive over to Freshfield, my foreman will show you one at my stables," said Jimmy, and straightway rode off fuming, while a visible smile was seen on the faces of all those within hearing.
"Sell him The Baron," said two or three of them; "it will serve him right."
The Baron was a grand-looking beast, whose appearance had deceived the wily James into buying him over in the "Land of the Shamrock;" but with his good looks his virtues came to an end, for he was without exception the veriest brute to ride imaginable, being a confirmed bolter, with no mouth, and with an awkward habit, if he did manage to get rid of his rider, of rushing at him open-mouthed, or else trying to kick his brains out. He had been tried at everything, but it was always the same, whether in saddle or harness; he was a regular man-eating savage.
Hitherto Holden had refused absolutely to part with him, though he had had more than one offer; but so outraged were his feelings on this occasion that he took the advice given, and Mr. Tinsel shortly became the owner of The Baron in exchange for a cheque for two hundred pounds.
It must be owned that at the last moment Jimmy relented, and told the young gentleman he had better not buy; but with the obstinacy of ignorance Tinsel insisted on the bargain, and so had his way.
The result was a foregone conclusion. The first day he took him out the brute ran away with him for six miles straight on end, jumping into the river to wind up with, from which predicament Mr. Tinsel was rescued just in time to save him from a watery grave.
The Baron emerged safely on the far side, and when caught was there and then despatched to town for sale without reserve, being followed in a couple of days by his owner. This, however, happened some years ago, and Jimmy Holden does not care to say very much about it now.
As the hounds move off, one of the field, a Mr. Briggs, finds it impossible to help breaking the tenth commandment and coveting the little bay, and when he sees the easy way in which the animal pops over the stiff rails out of the big grass-meadow, making as little of them as if they were a flight of hurdles, while he himself has been in vain looking all round for a convenient gate, the covetous desire increases, and a settled determination takes possession of him to become the owner or perish in the attempt.
Meanwhile Jimmy has noted all this, and though that jump seemed so carelessly and easily done, he well knows the value of it, and is quite prepared to hear Mr. Briggs say, as he does: "Is that bay for sale, Holden?"
"All my horses are for sale, sir," he replies with a smile; adding, after a pause, "at a price."
Thereupon Briggs tries to look as if he was not the least interested in the matter, and accordingly shows most plainly how anxious he is to buy. "Oh, ah, yes," says he, "he seems likely to make a hunter. How much do you ask?"
"Well, sir, seeing that you are an old customer, I will let you have him at a hundred and twenty; but take my advice, Mr. Briggs, and when you are buying don't show as you're so sweet on the animal; it's as good as putting another five-and-twenty guineas on the price. However, you shall try him the day after to-morrow, and if you like the horse, which I am sure you will, you can have him at the price I said."
Needless to say Mr. Briggs does like him, and a piece of paper signed with his name transfers one hundred and twenty guineas to the account of James Holden at the local bank, though it must be confessed that the little bay does not perform quite so brilliantly under his new master's guidance as he did on the occasion when the exhibition at the rails so delighted his heart.
It was not to be supposed that Jimmy Holden would be left for ever in undisputed possession of such a lucrative position as dealer-in-ordinary to the Bullshire Hunt, and at one time there was quite an influx of veterinary surgeons, job-masters, and copers of all sorts; but they all dropped off and disappeared with the exception of one individual, who was a constant thorn in Jimmy's side, and whom he hated with a hate surpassing that of women (the inverse applies equally to the fair sex, love and hatred both being qualities they excel in).
He was named Seaford—Captain Seaford he called himself, though the Army List was innocent and silent as to his name or his regiment.
"A nasty, snivelling, horse-coping snob," was Jimmy's verdict; "brings discredit on the profession, and makes people think as we're all rogues."
There was a deal of truth in this, for Seaford was as big a scamp as ever doctored a broken-winded nag or bishoped an old stager. Now and then he had a good horse, but it was the exception; and when such an accident did happen it was a wonder that he ever managed to shut his mouth again, so wide did he open it.
Farmer Simms used to say on those occasions: "Ay could see right through un' like a telescope."
A most plausible scoundrel is he notwithstanding, and if he manages to get hold of some new-comer he will stick to him like a leech till he has screwed something out of him. Of course he hunts, and equally of course he arrives rather late, not being over fond of letting his wares get cool—and stiff—at the meet.
He is mounted, perhaps, on a raking-looking chestnut mare. There is a good deal of "furniture" about her, such as breast-plate and martingale; the throat-strap is broad, and the band across the forehead is blue and white enamel. That the mare can jump there is no doubt, for she sails over the big bank and ditch in rare form, and for two or three fields (Captain) Seaford is in front. After a little he is to be seen on another animal, which, when there are enough people round to see, can perform nearly as well as the chestnut, who is now on her way home. If anyone happens to meet her they will be somewhat surprised to see how lame she goes. "Run a nail into 'er 'oof," is the groom's version; but an F.R.C.V.S. would be puzzled to find that nail, and his certificate would show the lameness to proceed from a very different cause.
It is a marvel how Seaford manages to "pick up" so many flats, but he does a thriving trade; and though occasionally he has to square an unpleasant business, he has always a plausible tale ready to hand, and so comes out with merely a scratch on his somewhat shady character.
Once he outdid himself, and was as nearly put in prison as ever he wishes to be. It happened as follows. One evening, late, a couple of fur-capped individuals brought a horse into his yard and asked him if he would buy. A glance showed him the animal was valuable, and the price asked being only twenty pounds Seaford naturally concluded that it was a stolen one. However, he argued, it was nothing to do with him, and bought it there and then. Next day the police found it in his stables, and hard work it was for the Freshfield lawyer to prevent the magistrates committing the gallant Captain as a receiver of stolen goods.
The reason for his having incurred Jimmy's hatred is because he was sharp enough once, soon after he had come into the country, to sell him a broken-winded nag; and Jimmy never hears the last of it to this day. However, he swears he will be "even with the scamp yet," and being a man of his word there is little doubt but that he will.