‘It certainly is queer,’ remarked Jasper, sipping his first glass of the newly brewed compound, ‘that sixty-seven horses should be entered for a quiet insignificant affair like our local steeplechase. Pebworth, it strikes me, must blush to find itself famous. I for one am quite at a loss to account for the sudden interest which we Devonshire folks appear to have inspired in what is generally a tame rustic contest.’
Jack Prodgers, as he slowly sipped the cool contents of his huge green glass, smiled with an affable pride in the possession of superior knowledge, which was not lost upon his friend.
‘You are not the only one, rely on it, Denzil, to make that remark,’ he said complacently. ‘Many a youngster who thinks he shews a precocious manliness by studying the sporting papers and talking of matters of which he knows as little as I do of Greek, is marvelling at the attention paid to a petty race at your father’s park-gates.—Look here,’ he added, handing to Jasper a newspaper carefully folded down: ‘you see in that paragraph the latest intelligence. Two of the finest horses in England—The Smasher and Brother to Highflyer—are positively to appear at Pebworth. They are the favourites of course. Nobody condescends to give a thought for the present to the humble chances of my Irish mare, whose name you may notice near the bottom of the list. Now, will you ride Norah Creina?’
‘She’ll never gallop with Brother to Highflyer,’ said Jasper decisively.
‘Umph! perhaps not,’ was her owner’s dry answer, and there was something in the tone which made Jasper arch his languid eyebrows.
‘I say Prodgers,’ said Jasper, after a pause for reflection, ‘what do you want me for in particular? I can ride, but so can others. Why not choose a heavy-weight jockey; or if you prefer it, some first-rate amateur like Sandiman or Lark, or Spurrier of the Hussars, men who make a living by putting their necks in jeopardy?’
‘Because a professional rider would betray my confidence,’ answered Prodgers frankly; ‘and as for your gentlemen riders, well, well! It is a fine line, imperceptible sometimes, that separates the amateur from the hired jockey. Spurrier is as honest as the day—that I admit; but then he is one of those impracticable men who disregard hints and will not be dictated to. I don’t exactly wish to be brilliantly beaten, and to draw a big cheque by way of payment for the beating. No. My hope is in yourself.’
‘I haven’t seen the mare, you know,’ said Jasper, hesitating.
‘She is not a beauty,’ replied Prodgers; ‘nor will you like her better for seeing her, as you can of course before you leave. A great ugly fiddle-headed animal she is, Jasper. The man who sold her to me at Kildare, candidly admitted that there was not a single good point about her. You will not be pleased with her heavy head, awkward joints, and straggling build. No wonder that the notion of her success is scouted. Will you ride Norah Creina?’
Jasper, himself no novice, was excessively perplexed. He had a high esteem for the shrewdness of his knowing friend, and he liked Prodgers too as much as it was in his nature to like any man. While still in the regiment and in the heyday of his brief prosperity, the elder captain had been kind to him, warning him against some at least of the snares that beset careless youth, and winning but very little of his money. And here was his former Mentor actually importunate in his solicitude that Jasper should ride a hideous and under-valued quadruped, on the defects of which its proprietor expatiated with incomprehensible delight.