Nothing I could do disturbed him, and he kept on the even tenor of his way, winning without difficulty by a couple of lengths. The mare showed more speed than I had given her credit for, and her owner rode like a Trojan.
The victory rested with the foreigner, and there was nothing for it but to pay and look pleasant. I omitted to say that the loser was bound to give a supper for the benefit of the hotel, and altogether I found, on including some sundry bets I had made; I was to the bad over the transaction nearly £100.
If the matter had ended with the transfer of the money and the supper I would not have cared, but it did not. It was excessively galling to be condoled with on every side, and to read a sensational but thoroughly incorrect account of the match in the columns of the local newspaper, the Journal du Nord.
On perusing a lengthy description of the race and accompanying remarks, a stranger would have come to the conclusion that we had been engaged in nothing less than a great international struggle, and that the disgrace of Waterloo had at last been wiped out.
They managed to ruffle my temper to a considerable extent, and I impatiently waited an opportunity to be revenged.
"Why don't you have a proper hack and not a weed, they cost the same to keep," was the remark continually dinned into my ears by the triumphant Monsieur H——. I meekly submitted that he was in the right, and that I was on the look out for a better animal.
He was anxious to assist me with his judgment, but the horses he recommended did not suit, and I wrote to a friend in England explaining my dilemma, and asked him to send me something decent. He was not long in complying with my wishes.
One morning about ten days after the dispatch of my letter a telegram from Clarence intimated that he had been successful.
"Have sent what you want by to-day's tidal train, particulars by post," he said.