"Please," said Picton, thinking how charming she was.
They had a quiet luncheon, then went to the stables. Dick engaged no regular trainer, but he had a man named Arnold Brent, who was a first-rate hand with horses, and at the same time an expert gardener; the combination was fortunate for the owner of Torwood. The horses were trained in the neighborhood, where Dick had the privilege of using some good galloping land, with natural fences—an up and down country, but excellent for the purpose. He had two lads who rode most of the work; sometimes he had a mount, and occasionally Brent. Altogether they did very well, and the Torwood horses generally secured a win or two at the local meetings. Dick Langford's favorite battle-grounds were Torquay and Newton Abbot. At the show at the latter place he often took prizes for dogs, poultry and garden produce; the money generally went into Brent's pocket. Brent knew both Picton and the Captain, and admired the former because he knew he was a first-class gentleman rider, although he had not seen him in the saddle. It was Brent who suggested to his master that Mr. Woodridge should ride at the local meeting for them.
"Not a big enough thing for him," said Dick doubtfully. "He rides at some of the swell meetings."
"You try him, sir," said Brent, adding, as he caught sight of Rita, "I'll bet he accepts."
"I hear a terrible account of these horses I am to ride," said Picton, smiling.
Brent smiled.
"I expect Mr. Langford's been pulling your leg, sir," he said.
"Isn't The Rascal a brute, isn't [Planet] another; and Pitcher was described as harmless, I think?" said Picton.
"The Rascal's all right if you humor him," said Brent. "He's bitten a lad, and crushed another against the wall, but he's not half a bad sort, and he'll win the double easily enough in your hands, sir."
"If I can mount him," laughed Picton.