H 



CHAPTER XII 



ERE is another little story anent the amiable 

 and admirable Weasel (in conjunction 

 with another of my " gees ") which forms, 

 I trust, a not uninteresting item in my 

 string of personal narratives. 



The scene is laid in the billiard-room of " The 

 Crown " (I think that is the name of the leading 

 hostelry) at Derby. Ben Cooper and Alf Savill are 

 trying conclusions at a friendly " hundred up." Enter 

 your Uncle Cockie, who proceeds to watch the enter- 

 tainment. On its conclusion Ben addresses me : 

 " Going to have a ride to-morrow, Capting ? " 

 * Why yes, I have a gee of sorts in The Boden 

 Eccentric/' 



" Rum sort of race ain't it ? " 

 " Yes, it is for horses regularly ridden to hounds 

 during the season. There will be a pretty big field, 

 too, from all I hear." 



" Have you found the pea ? " this from Savill. 

 " Not I. I expect you knights of the pencil will 

 set your market according to the riders, eh ? ' 



41 In which case, sir, you are sure to be favourite ? ' 

 146 



