The money was now in great jeopardy, and the people on the road shouted and gesticulated the names of their respective favourites with redoubled energy, as if their eagerness could add impetus to the animals. “Flintoff! Flintoff! Flintoff!” “The Frenchman! the Frenchman!” as Monsieur at length dropped his hands and settled into something like a seat. On, on, they went, Monsieur every now and then looking back to see that he had a proper space between himself and his pursuer, and, giving his horse a good dig with his spurs, he lifted him over a stiff stake-and-rice fence that separated him from the field with the Clump.
“Here they come!” is now the cry on the hill, and fair faces at length turn to contemplate the galloppers, who come sprawling up the valley in the unsightly way fore-shortened horses appear to do. The road gate on the right flies suddenly open, and Tippy Tom is seen running away with Geordey Gallon, who just manages to manouvre him round the Clump to the front as Monsieur comes swinging in an easy winner.
Glorious victory for Geordey! Glorious victory for Monsieur! They can’t have won less than thirty pounds between them, supposing they get paid, and that Geordey gives Jack his “reglars.” Well may Geordey throw up his shallow hat and hug the winner. But who shall depict the agony of Sir Moses at this dreadful blow to his finances? The way he dom’d Cuddy, the way he dom’d Jack, the way he swung frantically about Lawristone Clump, declaring he was ruined for ever and ever! After thinking of everybody at all equal to the task, we are obliged to get, our old friend Echo to answer “Who!”
CHAPTER XLV.
HENEREY BROWN & CO. AGAIN.
THE first paroxysm of rage being over, Sir Moses remounted his dog-cart, and drove rapidly off, seeming to take pleasure in making his boy-groom (who was at the mare’s head) run after it as long as he could.
“What’s it Baronet off?” exclaimed Mr. Gallon, staring with astonishment at the fast-receding vehicle; “what’s it, Baronet off?” repeated he, thinking he would have to go to Pangburn Park for his money.
“O dear Thir Mothes is gone!” lisped pretty Miss Mechlinton, who wanted to have a look at our hero, Mr. Pringle, who she heard was frightfully handsome, and alarmingly rich. And the ladies, who had been too much occupied with the sudden rush of excited people to notice Sir Moses’s movements, wondered what had happened that he didn’t come to give his tongue an airing among them as usual. One said he had got the tooth-ache; another, the ear-ache; a third, that he had got something in his eye; while a satirical gentleman said it looked more like a B. in his bonnet.
“Ony hoo,” however, as Mr. Gallon would say, Sir Moses was presently out of the field and on to the hard turnpike again.