THE SPORTING CHANCE.
CHAPTER I.
MOSTYN MAKES HIS DEBÛT.
"It may be old-fashioned to drive a coach to the Derby, but I'll be in my coffin before I'll go down any other way!" Thus, perpetrating a characteristic "bull," spoke genial and popular "Old Rory," as he was known to the best part of the world—Sir Roderick Macphane, to give him his true title.
A few minutes back he had handed over the ribbons to one of the grooms, who, with his fellow, was now busily engaged unharnessing the horses, four fine roans, as handsome a team as the heart of man could desire. "Old Rory" was a famous whip, and, in spite of his advancing years, a good all-round sportsman—a master of hounds, a familiar figure on the race-course, and as good a judge of horse and dog flesh as any in the country. In his younger days he had been an intrepid rider at the hurdles, an amateur of more than common merit.
There was, perhaps, no more popular man than "Rory" Macphane in the three kingdoms. He was laughed at, especially in Parliament, where he held a seat for an Irish division, because of his quaint sayings and frequent faux pas, but his good nature, charity, and kindness of heart were admitted on all sides. They were as palpable as his sportsmanship.
Mostyn Clithero, who occupied a seat at the back of the coach together with his friend and future brother-in-law, Pierce Trelawny, a nephew of Sir Roderick's, enjoyed the comments of the crowd as the coach threaded its way to the appointed place opposite the Grand Stand.
"That's 'Old Rory,' what owns Hipponous." How the populace murdered the colt's name! "The Derby winner—perhaps! He's one of the best. Look at the old sport sitting up there with his back as straight as a lad's! Good luck to ye, sir, and good luck to the 'oss! Hip—Hip—Hipponous!" This had become a popular catch-word, easily taken up and repeated.
Sir Roderick smiled a little and nodded now and again, quite conscious of his popularity and of that of his horse. It was the ambition of his life to win the Derby. He had tried many times and failed, but on the present occasion it looked as if he stood a good chance, for Hipponous had won the Middle Park Plate and was second favourite in the betting.
Sir Roderick stood up on the box, his back turned to the course, and made a little speech to his guests. Lady Lempiere, who had occupied the place of honour by his side, and to whom his first remark had been addressed, turned too, as in duty bound. She was a well-known society dame, no longer young but still reputed for her beauty as well as for her success upon the turf. She fixed her eyes, which were blue and liquid and full of expression, upon Major Molyneux, who sat directly behind her, and who—or so her eyes seemed to say—might soon be by her side. He was her accepted cavalier, and it was an understood thing that wherever Lady Lempiere was asked Major Molyneux must also receive his invitation.
"I want you all to understand that ceremony is a non-starter to-day," thus spoke Sir Roderick, "and this is to be a go-as-you-please race for all of you. There's lunch on the coach for any one at any time it's asked for, and the ice will give out before the wine does, though we've got a hundredweight on board. Bring as many of your friends as you like; there's enough for all. Don't worry about me: I shall probably be in the House—I mean the Paddock"—he corrected himself with a broad smile—"a place where I'm more in my element, and occasionally get listened to." He drew a deep breath as of relief at a duty performed. "Since I'm not at Westminster," he added, "I needn't talk for an hour when all I have to say is just comprised in two words: good luck!"