140 RACECOURSE AND COVERT SIDE. 



The simile hadn't come yet, and again Stubson 

 took refuge in his beer mug. 



" But I must say that he's been strangely 

 lucky, has Mr. Capper," Garrett, the weak- 

 voiced, sharp-nosed little barber joined in. 

 *' Strangely lucky he's been in his betting. 

 You are not here much, Mr. Stubson, and you 

 have not seen the wonderful hits he's made. 

 There was Port-hole for the Corinthian Stakes, 

 that nobody thought had a chance, and he came 

 in and won from us all round. Then there was 

 May Blossom again ; that was wonderful judg- 

 ment, and it's quite sure that In general he's 

 right. He may not understand horses in private 

 life, but he does seem to know them that'll win 

 races;" and the little man rubbed his hands 

 deprecatingly, as if in apology for differing from 

 the burly farmer. 



Stubson grunted, and, emptying his mug, 

 knocked upon the table for some one to come 

 in and replenish it. 



The scene was the parlour of the Fox and 

 Hounds, Chipbury — called Chipry by the 

 inhabitants — a good many more years ago than 

 some people like to remember, and it was grow- 

 ing late in the afternoon of the day when the 

 Royal Southern Steeplechase was being run at 

 Birdingley, some thirty miles from Chipbury, 



