THE EVE OP THE RACE. ij 



was present also. The moment the door was unlocked in the 

 morning, there stood John Selhisall, and his shadow was invari- 

 ably the last that stole across its threshold as I was left to the 

 repose of " Nature's soft nurse — the honey-heavy dew of sleep." 



Day by day passed on, until the eventful one — big with 

 fate — arrived for me to make my first appearance in public. 

 I had taken my last "pipe-opener" two days before, and 

 pulled up, according to Spanky's expressed opinion, "as 

 fresh as paint ; " for, except in particular cases, v.diere a horse 

 was constitutionally disposed to accumulate flesh quickly, 

 our trainer strictly avoided "rattling gallops" on the near 

 approach of running, and everything likely to cause staleness. 

 My plates had been put on the previous afternoon, and even 

 the plaiting of my mane was then accomplished, so that I 

 might not be disturbed and fidgetted at a time v>'hen 

 tranqmllity is of the greatest importance. 



It was a bright and bracing day late in October, and within 

 rather more than a couple of hours of my being led out to run 

 for the Criterion, that Robert Top made his welcome appearance 

 in my box. He was dressed, and looked, from head to heel, exactly 

 the same as when I last saw him watching me enter j^o. 1. 



" What, my lad-o'-wax ! " cried he, tlrrowing a keen look 

 over me as I stood stripped before him, during the last polishing 

 rub, which Harry Dale was bestowing with the eye of an artist 

 to the finishing touches of the picture upon his easel. " What, 

 my lad-o'-wax ! " repeated he in the well-remembered attitude 

 of earlier days, " and is it all agoin' to come to pass just as the 

 jolly old 23roffit Robert Top said it wouid, an' no mistake ? " 



"How do ye think he looks, sir?" inquired Harry, after 

 giving, as he thought, reasonable time for Mr. Top to draw 

 a tolerably comprehensive opinion upon the point. 



" How do I think he looks ?" returned Bobert with a futile 

 efibrt to get his hands deeper in the pockets of his drab 

 breeches. "Why, to my mind, Harry," continued he, "he 

 looks a real angel of a race-oss." 



" Psh-sh, psh-sh," hissed Harry. " No fault to find i' the 

 condition, I think, sir ?" 



