“Three weeks to-morrow, I believe,” replied his son. “By-the-by, I think I ought to mention that Saunders wants me to be one of the riders.”
“You!” exclaimed his father in astonishment.
“Yes, father; he says I am the best rider of my age anywhere round, and that I shall stand a good chance of coming in at the head of them.”
“Very likely that may be the opinion of Mr Robert Saunders,” replied the squire; “but I can only say I wish you were not quite so friendly with that young man; you know it was he who led you into that scrape with poor Forester.”
“Ah, but, father, Bob wasn’t to blame. You know I took the blame on myself, and that was putting it on the right shoulders. There’s no harm in Bob; there are many worse fellows than he is.”
“But perhaps,” said Miss Huntingdon, “he may not be a very desirable companion for all that.”
“Perhaps not, auntie.—Well, father, if you don’t mind my riding this time, I’ll try and keep a little more out of his way in future.”
“I think you had better, my boy; you are not likely to gain much either in reputation or pocket by the acquaintance. You know it was only the other day that he helped to let you in for losing a couple of sovereigns in that wretched affair on Marley Heath; and one of them was lost to about the biggest blackguard anywhere hereabouts. I think, my boy, it is quite time that you kept clear of such things.”
“Indeed, father. I almost think so too; and, at any rate, you won’t find me losing any more sovereigns to Jim Jarrocks. But I’m almost pledged to Saunders to ride in this steeplechase. It will be capital fun, and no harm, and perhaps I may never have another chance.”
“I had rather you didn’t,” said his father; “anyhow, your friend Saunders must find you a horse for I am not going to have one of mine spoilt again, and your own pony would make but a poor figure in a steeplechase.”