1 66 A Good Thing 



well, perhaps, to find out whether he has backed his 

 mount before bemg too certam. 



Amongst the horses that are bemg led round in the 

 paddock, from which the competitors for the hurdle- 

 race are just emerging, is a big chesnut, and watching 

 him as he passes is a tall, thin man, with a slight brown 

 moustache, dressed to ride so far as his boots and 

 breeches are concerned, an ulster covering whatever may 

 be underneath. 



* Looks well, doesn't he ? ' says Southey, the friend 

 who is with him. ' You'll win, won't you, Bobby ? I 

 should think it's good for you on the Kempton running.' 



* I thought so,' York replies, but there is an anxious 

 look on his pleasant, kindly face. ' At least, I thought 

 it was a very fair match at a stone ; but the others seem 

 to think they're sure to win.' 



' Barnes can't ride, can he ? ' rejoins the other. 



*Well, you see, he's not had much practice,' Y^ork 

 answers, unwilling to speak slightingly of one who is 

 more or less a friend. ' He has ridden a few times, 

 though I don't think he has won a race yet. That's his,' 

 he continues, nodding his head towards a very compact, 

 well-made, and evidently well-trained dark brown mare 

 that passes them at the moment. 



' Who suggested the match ? ' asks Southey. 



' They did ; Upton manages Barnes's horses, you 

 know. He said he thought it would be a good race, and 

 it seemed to me very fair.' 



' I'm told something happened in that race at 

 Kempton ; she got knocked on to the rails, or something 

 or other, didn't she ? ' the other asked. 



' Yes, I believe something went wrong ; but I won 

 very easily,' York replied. 



