8 TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



Gath. Not that Joe Dallas is not admitted to be honest when 

 he does ride; Once in the saddle he is to be trusted to do his 

 utmost to win, and he has never been known to pull a horse. 

 But he has the reputation for shilly-shallying in his engagements, 

 and a notoriety for retiring from doubtful contests at the eleventh 

 hour. There is always some plausible reason assigned ; but 

 Joe's 'cuteness lays him open to suspicion. The on dit that is 

 not shouted on the housetops, but only whispered with bated 

 breath within the precincts of certain stables, is that Joe Dallas 

 has a heathenish leaning to periodical worshippings of Bacchus, 

 and that from time to time wild fits of intemperance incapaci- 

 tate him for racing. The secret stable conclave opines that 

 Jess's constant presence guards him against sudden temptations 

 of the enemy at critical moments. It is said that Joe has won 

 more races than any jockey in England, and that his nest is 

 very comfortably feathered with his gains. At any rate, Miss 

 Jess gives herself airs, and is very high and mighty indeed with 

 any impudent jockey or too familiar trainer who ventures to 

 approach her with a modicum of respect. Every one knows her 

 neat little figure by sight, for to know Joe is to know Jess. The 

 likeness between the twin brother and sister is one of those 

 singular resemblances we occasionally meet with. The same 

 voices, as well as looks. The same tricks of gesture and methods 

 of speech ; for Jess is not irreproachable of mannish ways and 

 horsey slang. The jockey's childish stature and closely-cropped 

 head match hers exactly. Jess is certainly not a pretty girl, 

 with her wide firmly-closed mouth and deep-set gray eyes, which 

 flash and gleam rather more frequently than Joe's do. 



Her complexion is tanned with exposure to all weather ; and 

 her nose, too broad at the nostrils, is clearly unfeminine in the 

 strength of character it indicates. Look at her now, as she 

 leans over the crazy little staircase of their domicile, listening 

 intently to the conversation going on below. Her closely-fitting 

 ulster and man-like felt hat .scarcely distinguish her sex suffi- 

 ciently. She still carries a small travelling-bag in one hand ; 

 for she and Joe have only just arrived. There is a strained look 

 of attention and anxiety on her face, which even engagements 

 for great races never bring there. She is more feminine than 

 usual, in her eagerness. This young woman is the possessor of 

 unrivalled sang-froid in professional moments of excitement. 

 Her ungloved hands — how strong and sinewy they are for such 

 a little body ! — grasped the frail wooden balustrade with a nervous 



