This was an unpleasant and rather startling way of putting the matter. Mr. Sawyer had not indeed considered it from that point of view. Though a man of energy, he felt somewhat helpless; as who would not in a similar position? Eight miles from home, in a strange country, encumbered with a dying horse!
“What had I better do?” inquired he, rather plaintively, of the unknown.
Nobleman though he were, the latter seemed to be an energetic personage enough, and pretty familiar with the usages of the stable. Between them they made poor Hotspur as comfortable as circumstances would admit, the unknown conversing with great condescension and volubility the whole time.
“What you want for this country,” said he, rubbing away the while at Hotspur’s ears and forehead, “is a strong stud. If you’ve sport hereabouts, it pulls the horses so to pieces. Now this is a nice little well-bred horse enough, but he hasn’t size, you see, and scope; there’s nothing of him; consequently, when you drop into a run, he goes as long as he can, and it’s all U P! Mine, now, would have gone on for ever, if he’d had condition; but I only bought him ten days ago, and he’s never had a gallop. Nothing like good ones—big ones—and plenty of ’em! Look at him now; he’s getting better every moment.”
Without subscribing entirely to this statement, Mr. Sawyer humbly asked his new friend if he himself was very strong in horses?
“Not very,” was the reply. “I’ve got eleven, however, at my place, which I shall be very happy to show you whenever you like to come over. Every one of them up to more than your weight,” he added, casting his eye over Mr. Sawyer’s much-bemired figure. “I shall be happy to give you a mount on any one of them you fancy; and you will know them better than I can tell you.”
Our friend was penetrated with gratitude. Visions stole over him of an eligible acquaintance, that would soon ripen into friendship, with this most affable of peers; of a charming country-house, agreeable women, billiards, music, dry champagne, and flirtation—himself an honoured guest; of an introduction, perhaps, through his noble ally, into the best London society and everything that he had always thought most desirable, but hitherto considered beyond his reach. “Doubtless,” reasoned Mr. Sawyer, “he has remarked my riding, and taken a fancy to me. On further observation, he finds my manners are those of a perfect gentleman; and he is determined we shall become friends. How lucky Hotspur was so beat that I came in here!”
Accordingly, he thanked his new acquaintance with considerable empressement, and assured him that “he should take the first opportunity of taxing his hospitality.”
The unknown looked a little astonished. “Well,” he replied, “if you don’t mind roughing it a bit, I dare say I can find room for you, even in my little crib; but you can see the horses out hunting, and ride them too, just the same.”
“How considerate these noblemen are!” thought Mr. Sawyer, “and how playful! I dare say his ‘little crib,’ as he calls it, is three times the size of The Grange. But he insists on mounting me, all the same.” So he thanked him once more, and proposed that, as it was dark, and the horses were somewhat recovered, they should endeavour to make their way home.