“Eh, really! what an awful bore! But why are you going to throw me over?”
“Simply because, not being a bird, my presence in Brussels and at the steeple-chase at one and the same time is, to speak mildly, impossible.”
“And, in the name of common sense, why go to Brussels at this particular juncture?” inquired his Lordship.
“Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère!” quoted Horace; “business takes me—not pleasure, I assure you. It seems this East Indiaman, over the loss of which old Crane has been whining and pining for the last three days, was heavily insured in a Belgian house; but owing to some supposed informality in the drawing up of the papers, they, on hearing of the shipwreck, deny their liability. Now a cousin of mine is an avocat—the same thing as a barrister—at Brussels, so I am going over to put the case in his hands. Old Crane pays my expenses, and gives me a very handsome commission, and—you know I never make any secret of the unfortunate anomaly, that my habits are expensive and my pocket shallow—I can’t afford to throw such a chance away. I tell you this in confidence, to prove to you that I really am unable to see you through this horse business, which from the first, you are aware, I never liked; but I find, as I suspect many mentors have found before me, that it’s a good deal easier to lead on a young fellow of spirit like you, mon cher, than to hold him back.”
Lord Alfred smiled faintly—a pre-occupied smile—at the implied compliment, for his mind was engrossed by the prospect of the loss of D’Almayne’s presence and support at the steeplechase—a loss at which he felt vastly more uneasy than he would have been at all willing to confess. Anxious as much to be reassured himself as to inspire his companion with confidence, he said in a tone which, despite his endeavours to the contrary, betrayed his self-distrust—
“Yes, but really, D’Almayne, even taking your view of the matter, I don’t see reasonably what there is to croak about: that young fellow Tirrett, who has been born and bred among horses, and knows practically what those prigs of guardsmen—the frightfully heavy dragoon, the romancing Irish captain, and last and least, my innocent self—pretend to know, assures me there’s no horse entered that can come near the Don. As they are to be all ridden by gentlemen, and he is a gentleman rider (so called, like the theatrical walking gentleman, from his being utterly unlike the genuine article—on the lucus a non lucendo principle, I imagine), he rides for me, and I depend a great deal on his perfect acquaintance with all the peculiarities of the horse (for, entre nous, I fancy his temper is his weak point); and as his pay is to be more than doubled in the event of his winning, I think I have every reason to believe he will do me justice, and to feel sanguine as to the result.”
“Well, mon cher, I wish you most heartily success,” was the reply; “and I still more wish I could remain and see you through it; for without meaning to throw discredit on young Tirrett, or any of them in particular, I, as a general rule, mistrust these horse people. However, I think you have your eyes open, and may be trusted to take care of yourself. And now I must be off; I embark at eight to-night. By the way, I dare say you’ll allow me to write a note here; it will save my going round by the club.”
Suiting the action to the word, he seated himself at a library-table, and wrote as follows:—
“Dear Tirrett,—Your game is clear; let A. C. and O’B———n each believe that you will ride for him, and at the last minute throw both over. In this case Captain Annesley’s Black Eagle is safe to win, as I dare say you know better than I do; thus you will perceive how to make a paying book. If I prove a true prophet, I shall expect a £50 note from you, as O’B———n will (before you quarrel with him) tell you I got up the whole affair myself, introducing him to A. C., &c.
“I remain, yours faithfully,