“When you’re ready,” said the old sinner, who could hardly see his listener in the increasing darkness, “we’ll start, and run it from end to end. Mind, Mr. Tiptop, I trust to your h’onour!”
“In course!” replied Mr. Tiptop, who was considering whether he could make a better thing of it by acting, as he himself would have said, entirely on “the square,” or otherwise.
Accordingly they took up their positions some ten yards apart, but strictly on the same level, and went off with a rush, amicably and honourably, when they were both ready.
It would be doing injustice to Mr. Tiptop to say that, when he really chose, he was not a consummate horseman, either across a country or over the flat. On the present occasion he was resolved to do all he knew, and he sat down upon Chance, and got at her in the most masterly manner. The mare, however, like many that have been in training, was a lurching, shifty goer, taking several strides before she got fairly into her speed. Mr. Tiptop, notwithstanding his proficiency, saw the dark figure of his opponent a dozen lengths ahead of him, and could not overhaul him do what he would. His finish, no doubt, was inimitable, but it failed to land him first past the goal. Old Isaac, there was no disputing it, won cleverly by a couple of lengths.
Mr. Tiptop couldn’t make it out. “They’ve got a flyer,” said he to himself; “and they know it!”
He would fain have talked it over with Isaac then and there; but the veteran, simply remarking that “he was quite satisfied, and it would be daylight in ten minutes,” passed through the white gate already mentioned, and trotted back to the town at a pace which Mr. Tiptop’s regard for Chance’s legs forbade him to imitate.
Both horses were safe home in their stables before the helpers were up.
CHAPTER XV
TAKING A HINT
No man alive subscribed more heartily than did the Honourable Crasher to Mr. Sheridan’s aphorism, that “If the early bird catches the worm, what a fool must the worm be to get up earlier than the bird!” It was always a matter of great difficulty to get the Honourable out of bed, and not to be managed without considerable diplomacy. The stud-groom and valet laid their heads together for this purpose with laudable ingenuity, the former entertaining a professional regard for the hack’s legs, the latter being much averse to the idea of a hurried toilet. He liked to turn the Honourable out as a gentleman should be dressed, resplendent in scarlet, and with faultless boots and breeches. In his own opinion, proper justice could not be done to the garments he had prepared, under an hour and a quarter; and when the place of meeting was a dozen miles off, and the church clock chiming half-past nine found his master still in bed, the valet might be seen pervading the passages with tears in his eyes. The ruse he found most efficacious was to tap at the door soon after eight, and say it was near ten. The Honourable’s watch was pretty sure to have been left downstairs, or, if in his bedroom, to have stopped, unwound; and often as the trick had succeeded, Crasher never seemed yet to have found it out. Even if he rose in time, however, he was a sad dawdle. There were letters to be read, and sometimes answered. He would breakfast in a gorgeous dressing-gown, and smoke a cigar over a French novel afterwards, never dreaming of getting into his hunting things till he ought to have been more than halfway to covert. Sometimes, and this was the sorest grievance of all, he would take a fancy not to hunt, and then changing his mind at the last moment, order round one of the unfortunate hacks, and go off like a flash of lightning.