BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON. 69 



' I don't care who starts them. Appoint whom you please. 

 Mark, you tell Crowe to walk the horse up to the course in time. 

 I shall be with you an hour after moonrise, by Heckler's watch ; 

 and if I am not, I forfeit.' 



He thereupon strode down-stairs at a rapid rate, sprang into 

 the waiting saddle, and rode off. He was gone before any of the 

 few spectators of his departure had given his probable destina- 

 tion a thought. Mark, however, who observed the proceeding 

 from one of the bar-windows, smote his thigh with energy, and 

 exclaimed, 



* Jenny, Jenny, my girl, I can see it all.' 



' Can you ?' replied that estimable -lady, in tones of cool 

 cynicism. ' I am delighted. Only, the next time you sec it all, 

 whatever that may be, oblige me by doing so in a quieter 

 manner. You have broken one of our best jugs.' 



' Da — , that is, never mind the jug. Squire Whinridge — I 

 can see it all !' 



' See what ?' queried his spouse irately. 



' Why, the jockey ! Where is Grimstowe ?' 



' / don't know. There, get out of my way. You are neither 

 use nor ornament here. Go and look for your Grimstowe.' 



Nathaniel Grimstowe, Thornford's one ' member of Tattcr- 

 sall's and the leading Turf clubs,' was a continual cause of bicker- 

 ing between mine host and hostess of the Whinridge Arms. 

 Mrs. Hartbrook did not approve of wagering on horseracing, 

 except when it meant her husband's winning something hand- 

 some for himself and a new dress for her ; and as those pleasant 

 results had not recently followed Mark's speculations on the 

 Turf, she, attributing his ill-fortune to the malign influence of 

 Nathaniel Grimstowe, had learnt ' to hate the very sound' of 

 that operator's * name.' Hartbrook duly found Mr. Grimstowe, 

 and, after a wordy combat with him concerning ' the price' of 

 something, an entry made in a small oblong book showed that 

 they had transacted business together. Thereafter, until a 

 general exodus of his customers apprised him of the rising of 

 the moon, the quondam servant of Gustavus Whinridge, Esq. 

 went about his work with a countenance that beamed with 

 unspeakable complacency. He suggested Tennyson's 'Miller' — 



' The slow wise sniile that round about 

 His rosy forehead curled and curled, 

 Seemed half within and half without, 

 And full of dealinsrs with the world.' 



