66 TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



Whinridge brought his fist down upon the board with a defiant' 

 vigour that made the glasses jingle again. ' Why, gentlemen, 

 at equitable weights this patched-up crock of a leather-flapper 

 would not have the least chance against an honest hunter over a 

 fair line of country.' 



' He can be matched against anything you have got in your 

 stables, when and where you please,' exclaimed Captain Dykely, 

 by this time thoroughly roused. 



' He can, can he ?' almost shrieked the Squire. ' Then you 

 are on, sir. Hang it, I'll run you for the Cup, and back mine for 

 a hundred !' 



' Yes !' replied the Captain, with energy. ' Catch weights. 

 Name your time.' 



'Name my time? Of course I will. My time, Captain 

 Dykely, is to-night, one hour after moonrise !' 



Perhaps the only person present who was amazed at this 

 apparently insane speech was he whom (after the speaker) it con- 

 cerned most, even Captain Dykely. To the others — -especially 

 to Hartbrook, who audibly chuckled — the Squire's impetuous 

 seizure of the offer and fierce determination to have the wager 

 settled out of hand appeared quite a matter of course. 



In response to a question put to one of the stewards, who 

 lived some distance from Thornford, as to whether he intended 

 stopping to see the match, there was a loud shout of ' There ! 

 To be sure he will. And so will all of us. We would not miss 

 the race for worlds.' In the midst of the hubbub, Whinridge, his 

 whole frame vibrating with joyous excitement, left the room, 

 taking Hartbrook with him. Dj^kely followed their example, 

 with a grave air of deliberation that betrayed his awakened con- 

 cern. He already repented him of his rashness. He felt, to 

 quote the language of the Turf, that ' he had been rushed' into 

 making the wager by the exasperating taunts of the Squire ; 

 and, looking at the ' arrangement' from a strictly sporting point 

 of view, he began to have grav^e doubts of the issue. His own 

 horse was none the better for the race that was in him, and he 

 was completely in the dark about Whinridge s champion. 



Fluefaker might have to meet a fresh horse ; the Squire owned 

 a strongish stud, which was seldom short of work. Then, a 

 moonlight match ! Who ever heard of such a thing ? W' ell, 

 although he was not a Jack Mytton, he was game to see the 

 thing through, idiotic as it looked. The match was pay or play, 

 and the Thornford Hunt Cup should never adorn the Whin- 



