lo TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



mighty funk about to-morrow. I never see him turn a hair afore 

 with a bigger pot of money on. He's mostly one o' your sort — 

 cool as a cowcumber after pickled salmon.' Joe smacks his lips 

 over the recollection of one of his much-loved delicacies. 



' It's all right, Joe, ain't it ? The horse is a good one ?' says 

 Jess, with her eyes following the curling smoke which she slowly 

 emits from her lips. 



' Right enuf for me. I'm not a-goin' to say that the beast 

 mightn't pull the arms off a piece o' putty of Fred Gannon's sort — 

 one of your finicky, fine-mannered riders, as don't understand 

 nowt that can't be rid wi' a piece o' silk. The hoss is a vicious 

 one too. You should have seen him lash out at Rupert just now, 

 as tricky as though he know'd he owed him summat i' the way of 

 exercisings and railways. Lor' bless you, gal ! what's come over 

 you ? You're as white as my grandmother's ghost.' 



Jess uncrossed her feet slowly, and got up and peered at her- 

 self in the blurred little gilt-framed glass over the chimneypiece. 

 She passed her hand wearily through her short brown curls, 

 looking fixedly as she spoke at her own image. 



'Not much of a show nag at any time, Joe, this beast. Not 

 a well-bred one either : no women-folks ever to put her up to the 

 tricks of their trade. Heavily handicapped all round. No staying 

 power neither. Badly trained, Joe, badly trained.' 



The jockey was staring at her in open-mouthed amazement. 

 Jess shows dazzling teeth as her lips part in a cold smile on 

 meeting his expression reflected in the mirror. 



' I'm light-headed to-night, Joe. I'm not equal to travelling 

 twenty-four hours on a stretch. I'm a-goin' to bed.' 



The gibing tone in which she had jeered at herself suddenly 

 changed to one of drowsy dulness. She lifted her two arms 

 above her head, yawning loudly, and stretching her whole body 

 after the fashion of mankind. The little jockey caught her 

 round the waist as she attempted to pass him. 



' My stars and garters, Jess, if you haven't been a-cryin' !' 



For once his sleepy eyes opened wide. 



* Deuce take you, Joe ; let go, I say ! Right you are, old 

 man ! I've been piping a bit over " Scrutator's" tip for the 

 Beauty Stakes. I've backed the wrong horse, it seems, and all 

 my month's winnings are safe to go to-morrow. Queen Eleanor, 

 they say, has no staying power. Badly trained, Joe; badly 

 trained.' 



For a few seconds Joe looked at the doorway through which 



