Skelton was naturally far from pleased at having to stultify himself with Lewis by allowing him the full liberty of the stables, when he had strictly forbidden it. But there was no help for it after having fallen into what he considered the clumsy trap set for him by Blair. He was at great trouble to explain the whole thing to Lewis, when he sent for the boy in the library, to talk it over, and Lewis, whose wit was nimble enough, understood in a moment. Boy-like, he was delighted. He saw himself, the cynosure of all eyes, coming in a winner by an impossible number of lengths, with the men hurrahing, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs, and Sylvia Shapleigh handing him a bouquet before all the crowd of people. He hoped Mrs. Blair would not be there, though, to see Hilary’s downfall. Skelton explained everything to him carefully, took him to the stables, and himself watched him every day when he exercised Jaybird around the half-mile track on the Deerchase land, back of the stables.
Another reason why Skelton was not pleased at the notion of having Lewis in the race was that he was afraid the boy would acquire a fondness for the sport, and he talked to him very seriously upon the subject, and told him that this first experience would no doubt be his last of the kind. As it had been during the time Skelton was teaching him to manage the boat, the two were thrown together much, and Lewis took the same strange pleasure in Skelton’s company as before.
Bulstrode was not at all pleased with the arrangement, and became suddenly very strict and exacted a great deal of work from Lewis with his books. Lewis did the work, putting his mind to it very steadily, for fear Bulstrode would complain to Skelton, and then Skelton might not let him ride in the race, after all. Bulstrode was opposed to the whole thing. If Lewis lost the race he should be sorry, because he loved the boy; and if Hilary Blair lost it—good heavens! What would become of that dear Mrs. Blair, with her soft eyes and her sweet, ridiculous Latin?
Bulstrode was talking about this one day, in his own den, to Lewis. This was the only shabby spot at Deerchase. It was smoky and snuffy to the last degree, and full of that comfortable untidiness which marks a man of books. However, here were only a few battered volumes, that contrasted strangely with Skelton’s magnificent array down in the library, which lined one vast room and overflowed into another. This contrast always tickled Bulstrode immensely, who had a way of calling attention to it, and then tapping his head, saying, “Here’s my library.� And there it was indeed.
Lewis was balancing himself on the wide window seat, which was about twenty feet from the ground, and, after the manner of boys, trying to see how far he could lean out without tumbling over and breaking his neck.
Nevertheless, he was listening very closely to Bulstrode, whose attention was divided. He was, all at once, pursuing the thread of his own thoughts, saving Lewis from tumbling out, and blowing smoke through the open window. It was one of the peculiarly bright, cloudless March days that come in that latitude.
Everything on the plantation was full of the activity of spring. The great wheat fields in the distance showed a faint green upon the surface, although only the tenderest points of the wheat had pushed through the rich black earth. The woods were enveloped in a soft, green-grey haze, and the delicious smell of the newly ploughed ground was in the air. Afar off they could hear faintly the voices of the multitudes of black labourers, singing and laughing and chattering, as they drove the ploughs merrily. The thrushes and the blackbirds rioted musically in the trees, and a profligate robin roystered in a branch of the tall silver beech that grew directly under the window. The lawn was freshly and perfectly green, and the gravel walks were being lazily rolled by Sam Trotter, who was Bob Skinny’s coadjutor. The river was always beautiful, and the sun had turned it to molten gold. The great, dull, red-brick house, with its quaint peaks and gables, and the beautifully designed wings which had been added by Skelton, showed charmingly against the background of noble trees and the hedge of giant cedars which marked the pleasure grounds. A peacock sunned himself proudly on the stone steps which led down from the plateau on which the house stood, while on the marble porch, directly facing the peacock, stood Bob Skinny, superb in his blue coat and brass buttons and enormous shirt-ruffle, eying the peacock while the peacock eyed him. Neither one of them had anything better to do, although Bob occasionally called out a command to Sam Trotter about the way he was doing his work, which Sam received in contemptuous silence.
Bulstrode was rather insusceptible to the charm of Nature and still life, but even he was deeply impressed with the beauty and plenty of the scene around him. Lewis felt it in the joyous, exhilarating way that young creatures feel pleasure before they have learned to think. He felt that it was good to live.
Bulstrode was in his usual communicative mood.
After denouncing horse racing as a foolish and inconsequent sport in general, he began to give his views about the Campdown races in particular.