"Bedad, ye're both out," said a third, squatting as close on the bank as the men would let him; "it's Mr. Larry 'll win, God bless him!—and none but him—and he the weight all wid him, and why not? There's none of 'em in the counthry so good as the Kellys. Hoorroo for the Kellys! them's the boys."
"They do say," said the second speaker, who was only half way up the tree, "that Conqueror 'll win. By Jasus, av he do, won't young Brown be going it!"
"Is it Conqueror?" said the higher, and more sanguine votary of McKeon. "Is it the Brown Hall horse? He can't win, I tell ye! I saw him as Paddy Cane was leading him down, and he didn't look like winning; he hasn't got it in him. That he may fall at the first lep, and never stir again! Tony 'll win, boys! Hurroo for Tony McKeon."
The weighing was now accomplished, and jockeys mounted. Major McDonnell had to look after this part of the business, of which he knew as much as he did of Arabic. However, he was shoved about unmercifully for half an hour—had his toes awfully trodden on, for he was told he should dismount to see the weighing—narrowly escaped a half-hundredweight, which was dropped within three inches of his foot, and did, I daresay, as much good as stewards usually do on such occasions.
Counsellor Webb was to start them, and, though a counsellor, he was an old hand at the work. He always started the horses at the Carrick races, and usually one of his own among the lot. The Counsellor, by the by, was a great favourite with all parties, and what was more, he was a good man and a gentleman.
Major Longsword from Boyle was the third steward, and he, like his military colleague, was rather out of his element. He was desired to keep the populace back and preserve the course; but it seemed to Major Longsword that the populace didn't care a button for him and his red coat, and though he valiantly attempted to ride in among men, women, and children, he couldn't move them; they merely pushed the horse back with their hands, and the brute, frightened by their numbers, wouldn't go on. They screamed, "Arrah, sir! go asy; shure you're on my foot; musha thin, can't you be quiet with the big horse? faix I'm murdhered with you, sir,—is you going to ride over us? shure, yer honer, won't you go over there? look how the boys is pressing in there." The Major soon saw he could do no good, so he rode out of the crowd, mentally determining that the jockeys might, if they could, clear the course for themselves.
And now they were off—at least seven of them; for when the important morning came, the Captain had in vain used every exertion to get a rider for Kickie-wickie. His ambition had at first soared so high that he had determined to let no one but a gentleman jockey mount her; but gradually his hopes declined, and at the ordinary he was making fruitless inquiries respecting some proper person; but in vain, and now he had been from twelve to one searching for any groom in possession of the necessary toggery. He would have let the veriest tailor in Carrick get on his mare if he had merely been legitimately dressed. Really, his exertions and his misery were distressing, for at last he was obliged to send her back to Boyle, after having paid the stakes and the stable charges for her, and console himself by telling his friends that the gentleman from Galway, who was to ride for him, had deceived him, and that he could not possibly have put any one he did not know upon Kickie-wickie.
But the seven are off. There they go, gently cantering, looking so pretty, and so clean—the riders so steady—the horses so eager. How different they will look when three or four, or more probably only two, are returning to the post! The horses jaded, the men heated, with whip speedily raised, and sharply falling—spurs bloody—and jackets soiled, by perhaps more than one violent fall; and yet in ten minutes this will be their appearance.
"There they go—Hurroo! they're off. Faix, there's Playful at her tricks already—by dad she'll be over the ropes! steady, Bob—steady, or she'll back on you—give it her, Gayner, my boy, give it her, never spare her—laws! did you see that? Well if he gets her over the course, he'd ride the very divil. Well done, Bob, now you've got her—Hurroo, Tony, my boy, you're all right now:"—and the mare, after a dozen preliminary plunges, joined the other horses. "Faix, they're all over that—did you see that big brown horse? He's Thunderer—he's a good horse intirely; did you see the lep he took at the wall?"—and now they had come to a big drain; all the horses being well together as far as this, excepting Crom-a-boo, who having been forced through a breach made by some other of the horses in the first wall, had baulked at a bank which came next, and never went any further. Some one told poor Stark on the course that the horse didn't run to-day nearly so well as his owner did last night; and it was true enough.
"There goes Conqueror—he's over! Faith then, George is leading.—Brown Hall against the field!"