“I thought of Topsy-Turvy and Chance,” enunciated Mr. Tiptop, somewhat imperiously; and the Honourable’s face lengthened considerably at the announcement. To do him justice, he was one of those sportsmen so well described in the old Cheshire hunting-song—
“To whom nought comes amiss—
One horse or another, that country or this;
Who through falls and bad starts undauntedly still
Ride up to the motto—Be with them I will!”
But Bellerophon himself was mortal, and Topsy-Turvy was a very awkward mare to ride in a crowd. With great pace and jumping powers she had all the irritability of her high-born race, and more than all the jealousy of her sex. Horses in her rear annoyed her—alongside, or in front, they drove her mad: so she was never thoroughly comfortable, unless sailing away by herself with the hounds—a place, it is only fair to add, that she was quite capable of keeping. Chance, by Gamester out of Happy-go-lucky, was no safer a mount. Just out of training, she went nevertheless at her fences with considerable audacity; but was prone to over-jump herself when she didn’t run through them. As Struggles observed of her, “It was a safe bet to lay five to two on the Caster.”
However, the Honourable never dreamed for an instant of disputing Mr. Tiptop’s fiat; so he consoled himself by thinking what a start he would get! and how he hoped the hounds would keep out of his way. By the time Topsy-Turvy’s clothes had been replaced, and a handsome pony examined and approved of, the party, much to old Isaac’s disgust, adjourned to Mr. Sawyer’s stables, where they were good enough to express their approval of the roan and his companions in that conventional tone which is so much less flattering than one of sincere abuse. These gentlemen hardly knew Mr. Sawyer well enough yet to give their honest opinion; and perhaps it was fortunate for the sake of Isaac’s peace of mind that they did not.
“Useful horses, Sawyer!” observed Mr. Savage, considerately sparing the groom the labour of stripping them.
“Useful horses,” repeated Captain Struggles and Major Brush in a breath; the latter adding, “and seem pretty fit to go.” While the Honourable Crasher, who had not ventured further than the door, remarked that he “thought Jack-a-Dandy the best shaped one of the lot;” but conceded, in a faint whisper, that the rest of them looked “very like hunters: remarkably useful horses indeed!”
Our friend was not deficient in penetration, and by no means a person to have been nearly a week in The Shires without finding out what this epithet means. “When a man tells me he has got a useful horse,” Mr. Sawyer was once heard to observe, “I interpret it that he is the owner of a useless brute, which he wishes to sell me!” And Mr. Sawyer was not deceived by the politeness of his companions. He held his tongue, however; but more than once he caught himself brooding over the offensive adjective during the evening.