TALES 



THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



A NEWMARKET STORY. 



' I TELL you I'm a ruined man, Dallas, if Satanas don't win this 

 race. I've backed the brute with every stiver I possess. If it 

 can be done, you're my man.' 



The emphatic tones of the young man who spoke rever- 

 berated through the little passage ; the full light of a late after- 

 noon sun streamed through the open doorway which gave 

 admittance from the High-street of Newmarket, lighting up the 

 clean-shaven face of ' the knowingest jockey in England.' It is 

 the eve of an important race, and the ceaseless passage to and 

 fro of footsteps on the pavement outside keeps up a running 

 accompaniment to the conversation. In Joe Dallas's sleepy 

 gray eyes there lurked a suspicious gleam of amusement, almost 

 of derision. The owner of the favourite, absorbed in the con- 

 templation of his own shiny boots, did not see it. Joe and Jess 

 Dallas, the Inseparable, as familiar acquaintances call the twins 

 — Jess, Inseparable i ; Joe, 2 — have come down from town this 

 afternoon to their customary lodgings over a baker's shop. Inas- 

 much as Jess is very much the better-half of her man, having 

 nursed him through a puny childhood, set him on his bandy little 

 legs in the stable during a timid boyhood, administering allopathic 

 treatment of soothing cajoleries to his recalcitrant manhood, 

 she deserves the priority of rank she holds amongst knowing 

 ones. Her ability to hold the bit and bridle of a somewhat 

 slippery jockey is published far and wide in the streets of racing 



