Lurcher-Land 97 



to save the panes from the impact of an excited 

 toper's arm. 



The talk to-day, as the brown brandy, which the 

 paler cognac has not yet superseded, is consumed 

 and the fumes of coarse tobacco and the smell of 

 spilt beer and the faint sickly odour of evaporating 

 spirits overpower the flowers, is of horses. The stable 

 lads from the training stables far up on the Downs 

 drop in or call at the door without dismounting. 

 Once or twice in the day a tout calls and takes his 

 ' grub/ and scribbles a report in the little back parlour. 

 Sporting papers, beer-stained and thumb-marked, lie 

 on the tables ; framed portraits of racers hang on the 

 walls. Burly men, who certainly cannot ride a race, 

 but who have horse in every feature, puff cigars and 

 chat in jerky monosyllables that to an outsider are 

 perfectly incomprehensible. But the glib way in 

 which heavy sums of money are spoken of conveys 

 the impression that they dabble in enormous wealth. 



There are dogs under the tables and chairs ; dogs 

 in the window-seat ; dogs panting on the stone flags of 

 the passage, after a sharp trot behind a trap, choosing 

 the coolest spot to loll their red tongues out ; dogs 

 outside in the road ; dogs standing on hind legs, and 

 painfully lapping the water in the horse-trough ; and 

 there is a yapping of puppies in the distance. The 



H 



