1 62 The Harkaway Hunt Steeplechases. 



*' A true gentleman, sir, a true gentleman. God bless 

 'im!" says Ginger, feelingly. "Well, I knew 'im, I did, 

 when at Cambridge, sir. No, sir, I do not play the 

 banjo," says the distinguished minstrel, turning round, 

 and replying with much dignity to a young farmer who 

 has called on Ginger for a " toon," as he calls it, on that 

 favourite instrument. " No, sir, I do not play the banjo ; 

 it's vulgar. I perform only hon the Spanish guitar," at 

 which grand speech the country bumpkin, who thought 

 it fine to chaff Ginger, retires, much abashed, amidst 

 the jeers of his comrades, and wishes he had not spoken. 



Who's this with the battered-looking visage, attired in 

 a frockcoat, apparently much too tight for him, and wear- 

 ing a particularly tall, rather greasy-looking hat on his 

 head ? Can it be Billy Daw, professor of the noble art of 

 self-defence, the once well-known champion of the light 

 weights ? Yes, it is indeed that distinguished ornament 

 to society, and no other. 



How is it he is here ? Why, the fact is those trouble- 

 some gentry, the Middlesex magistrates, having somehow 

 or another heard of Billy's somewhat disreputable goings^, 

 on at his little crib, as he calls it, in the neighbourhood 

 of the Haymarket, have, in a playful humour, amused 

 themselves by taking away his license, so the redoubt- 

 able Billy, being at present lying idle as it were, 

 goes from race meeting to race meeting, hunting up 

 former patrons, and reciting his woes as an excuse for 

 appealing to their pockets. *' You couldn't lend us a fiver, 

 sir, could yer? " says he, insinuatingly, sidHng up to 

 Wildoats, who has just emerged from the hotel, and is 

 now lighting a huge cigar on the steps. '' You couldn't 

 lend us a fiver, sir, could yer ? I'm desperate 'ard up, sir, 



