UNCLE JOHN'S NEW HORSE.
A letter I found on my table, addressed to Edward Milford, Esq., Duke Street, St. James's, which, being my name and address, I took the liberty of opening, reminded me of the fact that I was engaged to my uncle for the Christmas holidays.
It ran as follows:
"The Grange, Slopton.
"My Boy,
"You are booked to us for Christmas, so don't fail. It is to be ten days this time, and no telegram 'on important business' to call you away, as, if I remember right, was the case on your last visit. There are many attractions here, or will be by the time you arrive. First, myself; secondly, a new horse, which you will have the pleasure of trying for me; and, thirdly, your cousin Grace. There are a few pheasants, and, besides, some of the old port. You will find a hearty welcome from your affectionate
"Uncle John."
Uncle John (whose surname was Dawson) was the sole surviving relation from whom I had any expectations. He was my mother's brother, and on the death of both my parents had been left my guardian. He had never married; but about the same time that he undertook to train me in the path in which I should go, he had adopted the orphan child of his brother, and it was almost an understood thing that his property would, at his demise, be equally divided between myself and Grace Dawson, the lady referred to in his letter as cousin Grace.
A thorough sportsman of the old school, whose creed lay in horse, hound, and hospitality, he made The Grange as pleasant a place to stop at as one could well find. But there was (as there is in every enjoyment) one drawback—to me at least—and that lay in the "new horse."
My worthy uncle, excellent rider as he was, happened to be the worst judge of a horse in the world, and was always picking up wonderful bargains which, unfortunately, he insisted on my trying for him. How it is that I have hitherto escaped with an unbroken neck I cannot say; for there is scarcely any circus-rider in the United Kingdom who dare lay claim to more double somersaults, and I might almost say that I am an expert at flying in all its branches.
However, nothing venture nothing have; and I was not going to quarrel with Uncle John through any fear of Uncle John's new horse, besides the attraction of cousin Grace. So I sent an answer accepting the invitation, and giving the train by which I should arrive.
It was a cold cheerless afternoon when, having wrapped myself up in my railway-rug, I selected a regalia reina and proceeded to settle myself in the space allotted to me by a magnanimous railway company in a smoking carriage attached to the 3.50 P.M. to Slopton.
There are three things that, when travelling, invariably strike me as peculiar; and which I am forced to put down either to the perversity of human nature or the desire not to give too much comfort for the money.
First: Why is it that the examination of tickets never takes place until nearly the last moment, when one is well wrapped up and settled—the finding of the required piece of cardboard entailing an undoing of the whole arrangement, a search through an infinity of pockets, a loss of temper, a letting in of much cold air, and, to wind up, the almost positive certainty that, having worked oneself into a fever because the blessed article is not forthcoming, one suddenly remembers that, with a chuckle at one's own 'cuteness and in order not to be disturbed, it had been slipped into the band of one's hat, where it had been staring an idiotic examiner in the face for fully five minutes, he pretending all the while not to have seen it?
Secondly: Why, just as you have recovered from the effects of the official visit and have rearranged yourself with, perhaps, your feet on the opposite cushion, if the door opens and another passenger gets in, should he be certain to choose the very seat where you have deposited your legs, notwithstanding that there may be three or four other vacant places, and that by sitting opposite he inflicts the maximum of discomfort on both?
Thirdly: Why is it that the carriages are built with a projection, whereupon you are supposed to recline your head if disposed to sleep, but to effect which purpose you must perforce sit bolt upright, the said projection invariably being, for ordinary mortals, some four inches too high?
And why, if either you yourself or your next-door neighbour, neglect to assume the rigid and perpendicular position necessary, but venture to fall asleep in a more comfortable posture, should it be very long odds that you find yourself reposing peacefully on his shirt-front, or vice-versa?
Before I had arrived at any solution of these phenomena, the train ran into Crosby Junction, and, together with a foot-warmer—which, so far as I could make out, was filled with cold water—there entered a portly individual, whose vocation was plainly stamped on his garments—to wit, a horse-dealer.
After the lapse of a few minutes, during which time the portly one kept the door open, he was joined by another member of the fraternity, who, from the likeness between them, was evidently his son. After we had started again, the father began the conversation by saying to his son: "Jim, I wonder how the old gent likes his horse," at which the youth allowed a smile to steal over his face, and remarked sententiously: "Lucky you got the money down, dad."
Who, I wondered, was the old gent? Somebody else's "Uncle John" perhaps, I thought, and began to reflect on the possibility of his having a nephew to risk his neck over doubtful purchases. I felt a curiosity on the subject, as I knew most of the inhabitants of the country we were approaching, and made up my mind to try and find out.
So turning to the elder I said: "I see, sir" (it is always "Sir" in a first-class, "Mister" in a second, and "Mayster" in a third, I have noticed), "that you know something about horses, and, being a stranger in this country, I should be extremely glad if you could tell me where I am likely to pick up a couple or three at a reasonable price. I have a commission to buy three hunters for a friend in London, and am going down to a place called The Grange, to look at one belonging to a Mr.—Dawson I think is the name; but I should be glad to hear of two others. By-the-way, do you know what sort of cattle Mr. Dawson keeps?"
As I concluded my speech, which I thought decidedly artful, I saw father and son exchange significant glances, and then my portly friend replied:
"Well, sir, you've come to the right shop for what you want. I have three of the very best you ever clapped your eyes on. If you will favour me with a call to-morrow or the next day we might do business. Though I must tell you that I am a one-price man, and keep none but the best. Perhaps, sir, you would take my card," and he presented for my inspection a highly-glazed piece of pasteboard, whereon was imprinted
JOSIAH BELL & SON,
Commission Stables,
102, Bridge Street,
Muxford.
Hacks, Hunters, Harness.
When he saw that I had digested the contents and had transferred the card to my pocket, he continued in a more confidential tone: "I'll give you a little bit of advice, sir. Don't be too sweet on Mr. Dawson's horse; I know he has one for sale which he bought up in town, a rare good 'un to look at, but a regular beast. If he takes it into his head he will do nothing but stand still and kick, and if he can't shift you at that he'll lie down and roll. Poor old gentleman, he was awful took in over it! He should have come to me. You can't mistake the 'oss, it's a big upstanding bay with a white stocking on the near fore. But here's Muxford, so I'll wish you good-day, and 'opes to see you to-morrow or the next day. If I ain't at home my son here will show you the nags;" and he got down.
Just before the train moved on again, however, he came to the window and said, "Don't you buy the bay 'oss on no account."
It was not hard to put, in this instance, two and two together, and when we arrived at Slopton I had quite made up my mind where the "new horse" had been bought. On getting out of the train I was nearly deposited under the wheels by a vigorous slap, administered in the centre of my back, coupled with the remark: "Why, my lad, you look like a Polar bear in that ulster. It isn't cold. How are you?"
Having recovered my equilibrium, I turned round and encountered the jovial face of Uncle John, whose nose, however, belied his speech anent the weather, for it was glistening red, like the sun through a London fog.
"I'm all right, uncle," I replied; "I can see you are. How are they all at The Grange?"
"Fit as fiddles," responded my guardian. "Grace is outside in the carriage, so get your traps together and let's be off. By-the-bye, I have such a grand new horse for you to try. You shall ride him on Tuesday, when the hounds meet at Abbot's Hill. A big upstanding bay; such a beauty! Got him dirt cheap; but there, I'll tell you all about him when we get home."
"Has he got a white stocking on the near fore?" I asked.
"Yes; how the deuce did you know, I wonder?" queried my uncle. "But look sharp with those things: you take as long collecting your traps as a fox does to leave a big wood."
"Alas, poor me!" I thought. "It is Mr. Bell's horse;" and I went out to see cousin Grace with anything but a feeling of "pleasures to come." The sight of her dear face and the warmth of her greeting, however, soon made me forget all about the white stocking, and the journey home was passed in questions asked and answers given. She told me that on the morrow the remainder of the party were expected down, among them old Lady Ventnor and her son Lord Ventnor, a young gentleman who gave himself considerable airs on the strength of his title, and for whom I had an intense dislike, owing perhaps in a great measure to an idea that he had designs on Grace's affections, which, although I had never hinted a word of love to her, caused me more uneasiness than I liked to say.
As a set-off against this (to me) obnoxious element, my old school-fellow and almost brother, Jack Fisher, was already in the house, together with his sister, who was A1 whether across country or in a ball-room, and the life and soul of any house she might be staying in.
Old "young ladies" no doubt used to shake their heads and say, in their jealousy, that she was "so fast;" but a better girl, in every sense of the word, than Lettie Fisher did not exist, despite her boisterous spirits and reckless daring.
Naturally when we arrived at The Grange Jack and I had lots to talk over—old days, old sayings, and old friends; and in the smoking-room, when Uncle John, seated in his favourite armchair, with a long churchwarden, fast colouring from constant usage, in his hand, endeavoured to inflict on us a detailed description of the big upstanding bay, we simply refused to listen to him, and I told him I would prefer to form my judgment from actual experience.
Next day the rest of the guests arrived, and I had the pleasure of seeing young Ventnor doing his little best to ingratiate himself with my cousin. I am afraid that my manner showed that something was wrong, for after dinner in the drawing-room Grace, having for a moment freed herself from his lordship's attentions, came across to where I was sitting moodily contemplating the piano, and said:
"What is the matter, Ned? You look as cross as two sticks. Everyone will think you have committed a murder if you go on staring into vacancy. Ventnor says you would make a beautiful Hamlet."
"Very likely," I retorted. "I was just then thinking with the Prince of Denmark that some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. Tell Ventnor I am highly flattered by his opinion of me as a representative of the Dane."
Grace only raised her eyebrows and left me to my thoughts, which were interrupted by the arrival of the butler, who informed Uncle John that the stud-groom was waiting for orders about the morrow.
My Uncle, who had gone to sleep over his paper and was still in the land of dreams, astonished us all by saying: "No more, thanks; not a drop more. Excellent claret, but no more, thank you."
However, the roar of laughter thoroughly awoke him, and he proceeded to tell us off to our respective mounts. Of course it fell to my lot to ride the "new horse." Ventnor had brought his nags with him. Jack and his sister were to ride The Drake and Topthorn, two of the best hunters in the country, while Grace had her own mare Kitty, Uncle John reserving to himself his favourite animal Corkscrew, so called from his ability to bore through any bullfinch in the world.
Having arranged these matters, candles were lighted and we all retired—the ladies to bed and the men to the land of tobacco and long tumblers.
"Are you nearly ready, Ned? It's a a lovely day," said Jack, as he rushed into my room on the following morning to borrow a razor (Jack had a way of borrowing razors, and a most inconvenient habit of forgetting to return them). "Tell you what it is, if I were you I should take plenty of sticking-plaster in my pocket, and, if you have any, a bandage or two, for James (the footman) has been gratifying me with an account of your mount for to-day. He says no one can ride the beast if it takes it into its head to be obstinate, and that it has nearly reduced one of the helpers to a wafer by going down with him at exercise and rolling over with him."
"Well," I replied, "you are a nice sort of Job's comforter. Here, drop it," as Jack seized my razor. "Do, for goodness' sake, go and get one of Ventnor's."
But he turned a deaf ear, and, making good his retreat, left me to struggle into my boots, and reflect on the pleasures of the chase before me.
When I arrived downstairs I found everyone assembled at breakfast in full hunting fig, and Uncle John sticking up for his new purchase, utterly refusing to believe Jack's history of the brute's manners.
"Ah Ned," said he, as I entered the room, "they are all trying to put me out of conceit with my nag, but you will show them a different story; even if he is a little awkward—which, mind you, boy, I don't believe—he will find his master to-day, eh?"
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the incorrigible Jack, rising, "I venture to propose a toast, with which I am sure you will all agree—ahem! The toast is that of my esteemed friend Mr. Edward Milford, who is about to be created Master of the Rolls."
Shouts of laughter greeted this sally from all except Grace, who remarked: "I think it is a great shame to chaff my cousin, and if there is any accident you will all be sorry."
I thanked the dear girl by a look, and turned my attention to pigeon-pie, ignoring Ventnor's question as to "Whether I did not feel too nervous to eat?"
Ten o'clock saw us under weigh, and strangely enough the big upstanding bay was on his best behaviour, and walked along by the side of Kitty most sedately—a circumstance which Ventnor, who hoped to monopolise Grace, did not seem particularly thankful for.
Arriving at the meet in good time, I found myself in the midst of a host of old friends, who admired my horse, and said he looked all over like going. The first draw from Abbots Hill was a cover called "The Rough," and it was noted for being a very nasty one to get a start from, as there were only two ways to choose, either through a boggy hunting gateway at the corner, which was always kept closed until the fox was away, or over a rasping great fence, with a ditch fully ten feet broad on the far side, which was, to say the least of it, not an inviting object to commence with.
Knowing the topography of the land, I slipped down to the gate as the hounds were thrown in, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing a fine old fox steal away and make across the long grass-field on the other side of "The Rough." Giving him a few moments to make good his departure, I holloed, and down came the whole field pounding away for the gate.
Directly my uncle's steed heard them coming he began his tricks by shooting up straight on end. A crack between the ears with my crop, and a gentle reminder of both spurs as he came down fully roused his temper, and, placing himself across the gateway, he started to kick in a way I should never have believed possible. With his head (notwithstanding all I could do) nearly touching the ground, he pirouetted round in a circle, lashing out viciously the whole time, and rendering it perfectly impossible for anyone to pass.
A few adventurous spirits charged the fence, but the majority of the field were kept back, and seeing that hounds were running hard with a burning scent, blessings (or the reverse) fell fast and thick on my devoted head.
At last, after I had thrashed him till my arm ached, and tried everything I could think of to induce him to shift his ground, the brute played his trump card, and down he went as if he had been shot, rolling over into the ditch, where he lay, and sending me flying well into the middle of the boggiest place, but fortunately clear of himself, so that I escaped without personal injury.
Covered with mud, and my hat squashed flat, I presented a pretty picture as I picked myself up and scrambled out of the way to allow the more fortunate sportsmen a means of egress, which they were not slow to take advantage of.
Grace, riding through, pulled up on the other side, and asked me, with some concern, if I was hurt.
"Not a bit," I said; "go on, I am all right, only take care of yourself."
"Don't get on that brute's back again, dear boy," shouted Uncle John. "It has frightened me out of my life. I thought you were going to be killed."
"Never mind me, Uncle, you will lose the hounds if you wait here; get for'ard and see after Grace; I will get this beast home," I replied; and, beckoning to two labourers who were standing gazing at the prostrate form of the "upstanding" one, I sent for a cart-horse and ropes, and we soon had him out of the ditch and standing, thoroughly subdued, in the field.
The saddletree I found smashed, and the stirrup-iron crumpled up, so there was no use in trying to go on. The horse was not damaged, luckily, with the exception of some hair off; but I had to lead the brute four miles home, and had had quite enough of it by the time I reached The Grange.
"Good Lord, sir, you are in a mess!" remarked the stud-groom; "I was afraid there would be summat happen. He is a nasty one; why, I rode him myself the other mornin' into the village, and he played me the very identical caper, just before you come to the bridge. He wouldn't pass that there duck-pond by the pub., and when he went down, as near as a toucher put me into the water. The lads do tell me as nothing will make him go by there now. Ah, master should a listened to me, and not go a-buying nags from a pair of copers like them Bells of Muxford."
"Oh," I said, "he came from Bell's, did he? I thought so;" and I recounted my conversation in the train.
When the rest returned of course they had had a capital day, and I (as is usual in these cases) had to stand the brunt of many condolences and much sympathy with my bad luck. I bore it for some time, but a climax came at dinner. Everybody, Uncle John included, had been vilifying the new purchase, when young Ventnor broke in with affected drawl, saying: "Ah, yes, but a fellah, you know, should not ride such a horse unless he knows how to prevent him rolling. It ain't safe—ah—you know."
Grace flew up in arms in a moment, and, with her eyes flashing with anger, said: "I do not believe, Lord Ventnor, that you or any man could have prevented the horse rolling. My cousin Ned can ride as well as most men, and" (here came the unkindest cut of all) "anyhow I do not think he would have turned away from Cleasby brook."
Then, catching my eye, she stopped short, and blushing crimson betrayed her secret, for I knew in that moment that she cared for me, and that I had nothing to fear from fifty Ventnors.
Uncle John, seeing how the land lay, said: "Well, Ventnor, if you are so confident that my nephew ought to have done better you shall have a chance of showing him how, for you shall ride the horse to-morrow if you like."
Ventnor was about to reply, when Grace gave the signal for the ladies to retire, and as soon as they had gone and we had drawn round the fire, Jack turned to his lordship and spoke up as follows:
"If you ride the bay to-morrow, I'll bet you ten sovereigns he puts you down."
"Oh yes, I'll—ah—ride him, and take your bet, Fisher," replied Ventnor.
"I'll do more than that," said I; "I'll lay you fifty pounds to thirty that you do not ride from this door to the village and back in half an hour; it's under a mile, so you have ample time."
"Ah—done," quoth the young gentleman; and the bets were promptly booked, the time being fixed for the start at 10 A.M.
Next morning everybody, from my Uncle down to the boy who cleaned the knives, turned out to see Lord Ventnor give me a lesson in riding. Jack, Lettie, and Grace I had let into the secret of the duck-pond, and thither we repaired to see the fun. In a few moments along the road came Ventnor with a sort of I-told-you-how-it-would-be smile on his face.
A snort—a full stop—down went the bay's head, and up went his heels.
"Mind he doesn't roll with you, or it will cost you forty pounds," shouted Jack, and "Look out, man," as the animal's forelegs began to tremble.
Nearer and nearer the pond they got, when all of a sudden down dropped the new horse, Ventnor jumping off as he fell; but unfortunately for himself he caught his near spur in the saddle as the animal turned over, and with an "Oh!" from the two girls, we saw him disappear head first into the pond, while the "white stocking" made tracks homeward as hard as he could go.
"My dear sir," said Jack, as we pulled the dripping lord out of the pond, "a fellah, you know, should not ride unless he knows how to prevent a horse rolling; it isn't safe, you know."
This was too much for both Grace and Lettie, and they were forced to retire in order to hide their laughter. Ventnor was so angry that he would not speak, and he paid us our money with a very bad grace the same evening. However, it taught him a lesson that it will take him years to forget.
I told Uncle John after this of my meeting in the train with the Messrs. Bell, and he decided at once to send the brute up to Aldridge's, where the fine upstanding bay fetched exactly twenty-five guineas, and was dear at that.
On Christmas Eve I ventured to ask Grace for a Christmas present, to wit, herself, and as Jack, who was my best man, said at the wedding breakfast: "Though the mount was not a pleasant one, still as it was instrumental in obtaining for me my wife, I had no right to be too hard on Uncle John's New Horse."