a THE LIFE OF A EACEIIOrvSE. 



Yv^itli his wonted quickness Harry Dale " racked " my head 

 up, and, stripping me, immediately set to work with the last 

 "wisj^ over." John Sellusall presented me with a double- 

 handful of corn, and, turning to my owner, remarked, with, 

 I think, the first smile I ever saw upon his countenance, 

 " There, Sir Digby ! I have done my duty ! " 



" He is all that you could make him, Sellusall, let the 

 result be what it may," replied the baronet, in a dry, husky 

 voice. 



" I've no fear of it," rejoined Kobert, separating his legs, and 

 sounding the depths of his breeches pockets. 



Sir Digby drew a long breath, and sighed almost inaudibly, 

 "/have." 



CHAPTER XII. 



THE BLUE PJBAND OF THE TURF. 



Sir Digby had two engaged in the race; but my companion 

 was merely to make the running for me, and cut out the work 

 at the severest pace he could accomplish it in as long as 

 his steel lassted. In company with my pioneer, who was led 

 in advance, I entered a place called " the Warren," in which 

 the horses intended for the post Avere then taking a preliminary 

 walk. With head erect, and a proud, disdainful bearing, I 

 glanced around at my competitors, and boastfully felt I could 

 pull over them with ease — ay, from the start to the finish. A 

 crov/d began to gather about me from the moment I quitted 

 the stable ; but no sooner was I in the Warren than a dense 

 throng pushed, squeezed, and elbowed each other with little 

 ceremony in then- anxiety to get a glimpse at " the crack." I 

 can see them novr rudely thrusting each other aside, with 

 staring, blood-shot eyes, and their haggard faces cramped and 

 lined with intense excitement. Upon my effort, perhaps, 

 depended their very lives, or something more dear to many 

 than even life itself. 



" What do you think of him, my lord 1 " inquired ft little, 



