102 SPORTING STORIES 



a horse called Quo Minus running in the Stakes ; but the 

 crowd was so dense that, after seeing him saddled and 

 bridled, he could not reach the grand stand, and had to 

 take up a position on the rails among the mob. At the 

 finish his horse ran in neck and neck with another. Just 

 then a little boy, seemingly in a great state of excitement, 

 jumped up on his shoulders and shouted, " Quo Minus 

 wins ! Quo Minus wins ! " " Get down, you young rascal," 

 cried Ford ; but the boy clung round his neck for a moment, 

 saying, " I can't see down there. Hurrah ! Quo Minus is 

 winning," then jumped off and disappeared. The next 

 moment Fred missed his pocket-book. It was gone, and 

 the boy too. To complete Ford's discomfiture. Quo Minus 

 lost, though only by a head. While looking about for the 

 thief he met Lord Chesterfield, to whom he related his loss. 

 "Go and find Bill Cauty, hedge with him, and I'll take 

 odds you get your pocket-book back," was my Lord's 

 advice. Ford lost no time in acting upon it, and soon 

 found the man he sought. " You've been had," said this 

 new Jonathan Wild before he could speak. " Yes, and 

 Lord Chesterfield told me to come to you. Can you do 

 anything in it ? " inquired Ford. " Well, you must give 

 up the small whitebait fish and give five of the long-tailed 

 ones (meaning five ;^roo notes), and I will try and 

 collar the remainder for you," was the answer. Ford 

 thought the blackmail rather heavy, but knew it was that 

 or nothing, and struck the bargain. Cauty then told him 

 to go next morning to a certain pile of timber, in a place 

 which he described, and he would find his pocket-book. 

 Ford did as he was told, and there, sure enough, he found 

 it, with all its contents, minus the ;^500, just as it had been 

 taken from him. The worthy Mr Cauty, not long after- 

 wards, fell into a trap which had been laid for him by a 

 bank in St James's Street, and was caught making off with 

 a small cash-box purposely left within his reach. He was 

 tried and transported, and ended his career in Botany Bay. 

 The racing parson, as a rule, has not been a favourite 

 with his Bishop, but there have been exceptions. Years 

 ago, one of these jovial clerics, having departed in hot 

 haste immediately after the sermon one Sunday morning, 



