74 TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



unsolicited testimonial to character), was deep in an endeavour 

 to advise Superintendent Pompert of the Thornford Constabulary 

 in the matter of the probable behaviour of a restless multitude 

 already gathered around the two ends of the water-jump. 



' You see, super, my governor, the Capt'in, is nervous ; and 

 the nag he's a-riding is nervous ; so if I was you, super — excuse 

 my making so bold — I'd pot most of my men by that there 

 brook to keep the crowd quiet.' 



' Thank you, my man,' replied the superintendent, in freezing 

 tones, ' I have made my arrangements.' 



' O, have you, Mr. Pompey-and-Csesar ?' rejoined Widgeon, 

 in a safe whisper, as he turned aside and left the lofty officer to 

 his own devices. ' Then I'll bet a pound to a shillin' some of 

 those boys there'll unmake 'em. Go along, old turnip-tops ; 

 keep that bull's-eye quiet, can't you ? . That's enough to make 

 any hoss shy.' 



The remark is addressed to one of the superintendent's most 

 zealous subordinates — a young man new to the force — who is 

 acting to-night as though he considered a plentiful production 

 of disturbing fireworks part of his duty. Widgeon takes a front 

 place by the brook. Crowe does likewise. Behind them and a 

 group, three deep, of mere spectators, is Gustavus Whinridge, a 

 prominent object in the silver-and-gray landscape as he stands 

 motionless, waiting for the shout that is to signal the start. It 

 comes at last. 'They are off!' and the Squire, his eyesight 

 made keenly telescopic by the love he bears to his boy, cranes 

 forward hungrily, and, missing no incident of the battle, begins 

 in spirit to ride the race himself 



' That will do, Redgy boy ; that will do ! Let him make the 

 running ! Now then, wider, wider, Redge ! Keep away from 

 his whip-hand. How gloriously that son of mine rides, to be 

 sure — like a man ! Now THEN ! Capital, cap-i-tal ! Ah, only 

 just over, Redgy. The next take-off must be better judged 

 than that, or you will be spilled, to a certainty. Now they are 

 out of sight.' 



The Squire knew every inch of the country over which the 

 two horses were galloping ; therefore his guesses as to what they 

 were doing, so long as the nags remained in view, were curiously 

 accurate. To the other spectators, Heckler the judge and Hart- 

 brook perhaps excepted, the incidents of the race were unsup- 

 ported guess-work of the roughest description ; the grotesquely 

 shifting shadows which were cast by the two horses rendering 



