At breakfast Twig was comforting us. "Poo, poo—never mind—it was all a mistake—all a mistake, you know."
"Yes," quoth Don Felix, "but my ribs are not the less sore; no mistake there I assure you."
"And the skirts of my coat," said I.
But to return to the races. On one occasion, a certain Captain Jack Straw, master of one of the London ships, and the collector of the customs, were two of Flamingo's guests at dinner, and a match was made between them, to come off next morning.
It was given out to be a trial of bottom, as they were to ride six times round the race course. Now the latter was a measured mile; a six-mile heat, thought I, in such a climate, and the owners to ride! However, there was nothing more said about it, and I had forgotten it, until Mr Flamingo took me out in his Stanhope at daybreak the next morning to see the racers sweated; and there, the first thing that met our eyes was old Straw sure enough, with his hat tied under his chin by a red bandana, and his trowsers shuffled up to his knees, ambling along mighty fussily, on a great chestnut mare, as unlike a race-horse, as one could well fancy an individual of the same species to be; for although he appeared to be cantering along, the pace was so sluggish, that we passed him easily in a trot. Those who have seen Ducrow in the Tailor riding to Brentford, caprioling on the stage as if he were going fifteen knots an hour, while he never shoots a single fathom a-head, will form a good idea of our friend's appearance and style of locomotion.
"Well, Jack," cried Flamingo, "how come you on? who wins?"
Here the collector came rattling up astern, deucedly well mounted, standing in his stirrups, his long nose poked between his horse's ears, and riding, regular jockey fashion, without his coat, a handkerchief tied round his head, and his whip crossed in his teeth, and sawing away with his hands.
As he passed the old sailor, he pulled up—
"Now, Jack, do give in, and don't boil me to jelly; you see I have done four rounds of the course, while you have not completed two. You must be aware you have no chance; so give in, and come and breakfast with me—do, that's a good fellow."
"Give in!" roared Jack, "give in, indeed! That's a good one—why, the old mare's bottom is only beginning to tell—give in, Master Collector!—No, no—besides, I see your horse is blown—there, mind he don't bolt; give in, indeed!"