IN DIFFICULTIES.
Effie (who can't make her sum come right). "OH, I DO WISH I WAS A RABBIT SO!"
Maud. "WHAT FOR, DARLING?"
Effie. "PAPA SAYS THEY MULTIPLY SO QUICKLY!"
THE OTHER "WESTMINSTER STABLE."
Noble Owner (watching the Favourite out for exercise).
Ah! don't look so bad, ARTHUR, after his spin!
They are asking all round if he'll run, if he'll win.
They would like much to know, I've no manner of doubt.
Why, there isn't a Bookie, a Tipster, or Tout,
Not to mention an Owner, or Trainer, or Vet,
But desires the straight tip—which I wish they may get!
If they knew he'd been "nobbled," they'd greatly rejoice;
Then they'd back other cracks—Dissolution for choice—
With a confident mind. "Nobbled!" Ah! were they able
To get at his groom, or sneak into his stable,
How gladly some of them would give him a dose!
That's right, ARTHUR; watch him, my lad, and—keep close!
Trainer. Ay, ay, Sir! They will not get much out of me, Sir!
A still tongue to Tipsters and Touts is a teaser.
They're awfully curious about t'other horse;
Dissolution, you know. Try to pump me.
Noble Owner. Of course!
Very natural, you know, I should be, in their case.
If they knew that this nag couldn't win the big race,
Or was not meant to run, then their course would be clear.
[Espies Stranger approaching.
Hillo! Not too near, ARTHUR! (Aside.) Whom have we here?
Polite Stranger (insinuatingly).
Beg pardon, my Lord! A bit out of my track.
Missed my way. But—ahem!—is that really the "crack"?
Why, he looks cherry ripe—at a distance. I've heard
All sorts of reports—gossips are so absurd!
But—would you mind telling me—has the Great Horse
Been really—got at? Entre nous, mind!—
Noble Owner (drily). Of course!
Dissolution's shy backers would much like to know.
But—tell them who sent you to ask—it's no go!
[Exit, leaving Polite Stranger planté là.