“Never mind! we know,” interposed Mr. Savage—a tall pale man, with a hawk’s eye that nothing escaped. “Why, you were seen, my good fellow!—seen with your own back against your horse’s, shoving him through a fence. They said if you hadn’t been the heaviest of the two, you’d have been there now.”
Like almost all stout men, Struggles was the essence of good-humour. He burst into a hearty laugh, but persevered in his denial. “Who saw me?” said he; “who saw me? He must have been in a right good place, though I say it.”
“Parson Dove saw you,” rejoined his accuser. Whereat Mr. Sawyer felt his heart give a thump. “Parson Dove made a capital story about it. He said he never saw a horse so badly in with so heavy a backer. I shouldn’t wonder if he put it in his sermon on Sunday. However, he’ll be out to-morrow—he and Miss Cissy, and the lot of ’em. I’ll appeal to him if what I say isn’t true.”
Mr. Sawyer listened attentively. Then he should see Miss Dove again on the following day, and in the enjoyment of what she had confided to him was a favourite pastime. Involuntarily he found himself thinking of the black eyes, with their long eyelashes, and wondering whether she would look well in a riding-habit.
Meantime the Honourable Crasher, in the last stage of exhaustion, was endeavouring to discover which of his horses Tiptop would let him ride on the morrow. The fixture was at a capital place, with the Pytchley, and promised a large field. Notwithstanding his insouciance, the Honourable C. could not but feel that he should like something both safe and fast, if, as was more than possible, he would have to ride for his life during the first few minutes.
“Tiptop,” said his master, raising himself from his seat on the corn-bin, and taking the cigar from his lips, “Tiptop, as they’re all pretty fit, you may send on Catamount and Confidence to-morrow.”
“Catamount’s hardly got over his physic yet, and I’m keeping Confidence for you on Thursday,” replied the master of the horse.
“Well, then, the mare and old Plantagenet?” urged the Honourable. “I can ride Plantagenet first, and send him home by two o’clock.”
“The mare’s had a gallop this morning, and we wants Plantagenet second ’oss for Friday,” objected Mr. Tiptop.
“Well, then, Life Boat,” pleaded the proprietor. “I haven’t had a ride on Life Boat this season. And, let me see, the Banker would do very well for second.”