CHAPTER XVI. 



THE RACE FOR THE DUKE's CUP. 



On the eventful day of the Hunt Steeplechases, it seemed 

 as though the whole countryside had gone mad. Billy 

 Hooligan, the drunken ostler at the ' Duke of Haughtyshire's 

 Arms,' struck work and said that he didn't care a naughty 

 word what happened, but he'd be past participled if he'd miss 

 one of the races. Jim Biggins, the one and only railway- 

 station porter at Mudbury, swore that the passengers might 

 get their luggage out themselves, as, come what might, he 

 meant to be on the course and back his fancy ; and even 

 steady, jog-trot old Jorker, the farmer, said he was going to 

 take a day off, and drive ' the missus ' over in his cart. 

 And these were but fair samples of the population at large, 

 within the limits of the Duke's hunt. One and all, rich and 

 poor, high and low, peer and peasant, joined in the cry, ' To 

 the Course ! ' 



The day was gloriously fine, and from a comparatively 

 early hour a steady stream of people toiled up the side 

 of the race-hill, on which an extemporised and roofless Grand 

 Stand had been erected. A fenced-in space adjoining this, 

 with a long, low shed, served as a saddling paddock, whilst on 

 the opposite side of the course, another portion of the field was 

 railed off as a reserved enclosure for carriages. One of the 



H.H. P 



