6S TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



Jenny, or he would not take so much trouble to get the better of 

 him ; for, mind you, the Squire is not one of the besting sort. 

 But how he is to do it, / don't know. They bar professional 

 jockeys ; and where he is going to pick up a feather amongst 

 the amateurs hereabouts puzzles me. All our good performers 

 are on the meaty side. And a feather he must be, Jenny, to 

 make the match a certainty.' 



The news of the novel match spread rapidly through the 

 town, and attracted to the recognised centre of operations, the 

 Whinridge Arms, crowds of sportsmen and idlers of all classes 

 anxious to hear ' the rights of it.' Upon the simple facts of the 

 case there arose, as the moments sped, an airy superstructure of 

 fiction, chiefly referring to the conditions of the forthcoming 

 struggle, which would have done credit to the inventive powers 

 of an American interviewer. If the moon did not rise, the match 

 was to be ridden by torchlight. Each jockey was to carry a 

 light, like a locomotive engine's, in order that the judge might 

 see that neither of them went outside the track. These, with 

 other statements equally picturesque, sufficed to divert the 

 steadily increasing company during the time which intervened 

 before that appointed for dropping the flag. Hartbrook profited 

 hugely by the excitement. Every drop of the remarkable 

 beverage which had been specially provided for the races was 

 ungrumblingly consumed ' on the premises,* a source of deep com- 

 mercial consolation to the mind of Mrs. Hartbrook, albeit she did 

 not by any means relish the idea of serving such customers with 

 the best ale at the price of the singular fluid just mentioned. 



Both Crowe and the Captain's man — a taciturn person named 

 Widgeon — were made much of by a company laudably desirous 

 of obtaining what is known in sporting circles as the straight 

 tip ; but neither of the persistently catechised servitors afforded 

 the inquirers any substantial satisfaction in the shape of answers. 

 Crowe and Widgeon either knew nothing, or they were acting — 

 reticently — under orders. The moon arose precisely at the time 

 appointed by the local almanac, a circumstance that did not 

 escape the admiring notice of those natives of Thornford who 

 rather looked upon the placid orb itself as local property, and a 

 movement was thereupon made towards the racecourse. But 

 where was the Squire ? From the moment he, Hartbrook, 

 Captain Dykely, and William Heckler, the starter (who was 

 on this occasion to act as judge), had arranged the modus 

 operandi, he had been missing. His last words were, 



