'Not having any intention to ride, I left town without any racing equipment; breeches and boots I have, but as to a cap and a jacket——'
'I 've provided for both,' said Father Tom. 'You saw the little man with a white head that sat at the head of the table—Tom Dillon of Mount Brown; you know him?'
'I am not acquainted with him.'
'Well, he knows you; that's all the same. His son, that's just gone to Gibraltar with his regiment, was about your size, and he had a new cap and jacket made for this very race, and of course they are lying there and doing nothing. So I sent over a little gossoon with a note, and I don't doubt but they are all at the inn this moment.'
'By Jove, father!' said I, 'you are a real friend, and a most thoughtful one, too.'
'Maybe I'll do better than that for you,' said he, with a sly wink of his eye, that somehow suggested to my mind that he knew more of and took a deeper interest in me than I had reason to believe.
CHAPTER XXIII. MAJOR MAHON AND HIS QUARTERS
The Major's quarters were fixed in one of the best houses in the town, in the comfortable back-parlour of which was now displayed a little table laid for three persons. A devilled lobster, the grouse-pie already mentioned, some fried ham, and crisped potatoes were the viands; but each was admirable in its kind, and with the assistance of an excellent bowl of hot punch and the friendly welcome of the host, left nothing to be desired.
Major Bob Mahon was a short, thickset little man, with round blue eyes, a turned-up nose, and a full under lip, which he had a habit of protruding with an air of no mean pretension; a short crop of curly black hair covered a head as round as a billiard-ball. These traits, with a certain peculiar smack of his mouth, by which he occasionally testified the approval of his own eloquence, were the most remarkable things about him. His great ambition was to be thought a military man; but somehow his pretensions in this respect smacked much more of the militia than the line. Indeed, he possessed a kind of adroit way of asserting the superiority of the former to the latter, averring that they who fought pro arts et focis—the Major was fond of Latin—stood on far higher ground than the travelled mercenaries who only warred for pay. This peculiarity, and an absurd attachment to practical jokes, the result of which had frequently through life involved him in lawsuits, damages, compensations, and even duels, formed the great staple of his character—of all which the good priest informed me most fully on our way to the house.