The Amateur Gentleman Part 102

"Barnabas--I never had a son--or a daughter--but I think I know just how--your mother would be feeling--now!"

"And I do not remember my mother!" said Barnabas.

"Poor, poor Joan!" sighed the d.u.c.h.ess, very gently. "Were she here I think she would--but then she was much taller than I, and--oh, boy, stoop--stoop down, you great, tall Barnabas--how am I ever to reach you if you don't?"

Then Barnabas stooped his head, and the d.u.c.h.ess kissed him--even as his own mother might have done, and so, smiling a little tremulously, turned away. "There! Barnabas," she sighed. "And now--oh, I know you are dying to read your letter--of course you are, so pray sir,--go back and fetch my fan,--here it is, it will serve as an excuse, while I go on to look at the horses." And with a quick, smiling nod, she hurried away across the paddock after the others. Then Barnabas broke the seal of Cleone's letter, and--though to be sure it might have been longer--he found it all sufficient. Here it is:

The Palace Grange, Eltham, Midnight.

Ever Dearest,--The race is to-morrow and, because I love you greatly, so am I greatly afraid for you. And dear, I love you because you are so strong, and gentle, and honorable. And therefore, here on my knees I have prayed G.o.d to keep you ever in his care, my Barnabas.

CLEONE.

CHAPTER LIII

IN WHICH SHALL BE FOUND SOME ACCOUNT OF THE GENTLEMAN'S STEEPLECHASE

Truly it is a great day for "The Terror," hitherto known as "Four-legs," and well he knows it.

Behold him as he stands, with his velvet muzzle upon old Martin's shoulder, the while the under-grooms, his two-legged slaves, hover solicitously about him! Behold the proud arch of his powerful neck, the knowing gleam of his rolling eye, the satiny sheen of his velvet coat! See how he flings up his shapely head to snuff the balmy air of morning, the while he paws the green earth with a round, bepolished hoof.

Yes, indeed, it is a great day for "The Terror," and well he knows it.

"He looks very well, Martin!" says Barnabas.

"And 'e's better than 'e looks, sir!" nods Martin. "And they're laying thirty to one ag'in you, sir!"

"So much, Martin?"

"Ah, but it'll be backed down a bit afore you get to the post, I reckon, so I got my fifty guineas down on you a good hour ago."

"Why, Martin, do you mean you actually backed me--to win--for fifty guineas?"

"Why, y'see sir," said Martin apologetically, "fifty guineas is all I've got, sir!"

Now at this moment, Barnabas became aware of a very s.h.i.+ny glazed hat, which bobbed along, among other hats of all sorts and shapes, now hidden, now rising again--very like a c.o.c.k-boat in a heavy sea; and, presently, sure enough, the Bo'sun hove into view, and bringing himself to an anchor, made a leg, touched the brim of his hat, and gripped the hand Barnabas extended.

"Mr. Beverley, sir," said he, "I first of all begs leave to say as, arter Master Horatio his Lords.h.i.+p, it's you as I'd be j'yful to see come into port first, or--as you might say--win this 'ere race.

Therefore and wherefore I have laid five guineas on you, sir, by reason o' you being you, and the odds so long. Secondly, sir, I were to give you this here, sir, naming no names, but she says as you'd understand."

Hereupon the Bo'sun took off the glazed hat, inserted a hairy paw, and brought forth a single, red rose.

So Barnabas took the rose, and bowed his head above it, and straightway forgot the throng and bustle about him, and all things else, yea even the great race itself until, feeling a touch upon his arm, he turned to find the Earl of Bamborough beside him.

"He is very pale, Mr. Beverley!" said his Lords.h.i.+p, and, glancing whither he looked, Barnabas saw the Viscount who was already mounted upon his bay horse "Moonraker."

"Can you tell me, sir," pursued the Earl, "how serious his hurt really is?"

"I know that he was shot, my Lord," Barnabas answered, "and that he received a violent blow upon his wounded arm this morning, but he is very reticent."

Here the Viscount chanced to catch sight of them, and, with his groom at "Moonraker's" head, paced up to them.

"Viscount," said his Lords.h.i.+p, looking up at his son with wise, dark eyes, "your arm is troubling you, I see."

"Indeed, sir, it might be--a great deal worse."

"Still, you will be under a disadvantage, for it will be a punis.h.i.+ng race for horse and man."

"Yes, sir."

"And--you will do your best, of course, Horatio?"

"Of course, sir."

"But--Horace, may I ask you to remember--that your father has--only one son?"

"Yes, sir,--and, father, may I tell you that--that thoughtless though he may be, he never forgets that--he _is_ your son!" Saying which the Viscount leaned down from his saddle, with his hand stretched out impulsively, and, this time, his father's clasp was very light and gentle. So the Earl bowed, and turning, walked away.

"He's--deuced Roman, of course, Bev," said the Viscount, staring hard after his father's upright figure, "but there are times when he's--rather more--than human!" And sighing, the Viscount nodded and rode off.

"Only ten minutes more, sir!" said Martin.

"Well, I'm ready, Martin," answered Barnabas, and, setting the rose in his breast very securely, he swung himself lightly into the saddle, and with the old groom at "The Terror's" head, paced slowly out of the paddock towards the starting post.

Here a great pavilion had been set up, an ornate contrivance of silk and gold cords, and gay with flags and bunting, above which floated the Royal Standard of England, and beneath which was seated no less ornate a personage than the First Gentleman in Europe--His Royal Highness the Prince Regent himself, surrounded by all that was fairest and bravest in the Fas.h.i.+onable and Sporting World. Before this pavilion the riders were being marshalled in line, a gallant sight in their scarlet coats, and, each and every, mounted upon a fiery animal every whit as high-bred as himself; which fact they manifested in many and divers ways, as--in rearing and plunging, in tossing of heads, in las.h.i.+ng of heels, in quivering, and snorting, and stamping--and all for no apparent reason, yet which is the prerogative of your thoroughbred all the world over.

Amidst this confusion of tossing heads and manes, Barnabas caught a momentary glimpse of the Viscount, some way down the line, his face frowning and pale; saw the Marquis alternately bowing gracefully towards the great, gaudy pavilion, soothing his plunging horse, and re-settling his cravat; caught a more distant view of Captain Slingsby, sitting his kicking sorrel like a centaur; and finally, was aware that Sir Mortimer Carnaby had ridden up beside him, who, handsome and debonair, bestrode his powerful gray with a certain air of easy a.s.surance, and laughed softly as he talked with his other neighbor, a thinnish, youngish gentleman in sandy whiskers, who giggled frequently.

"....very mysterious person," Sir Mortimer was saying, "n.o.body knows him, devilish odd, eh, Tressider? Tufton Green dubbed him the 'Galloping Countryman,'--what do you think of the name?"

"Could have suggested a better, curse me if I couldn't, yes, Carnaby, oh damme! Why not 'the Prancing Ploughman,' or 'the Cantering Clodhopper'?" Here Sir Mortimer laughed loudly, and the thinnish, youngish gentleman giggled again.

Barnabas frowned, but looking down at the red rose upon his breast, he smiled instead, a little grimly, as he settled his feet in the stirrups, and shortening his reins, sat waiting, very patiently. Not so "The Terror." Patient, forsooth! He backed and sidled and tossed his head, he fidgeted with his bit, he glared viciously this way and that, and so became aware of other four-legged creatures like himself, notably of Sir Mortimer's powerful gray near by, and in his heart he scorned them, one and all, proud of his strength and might, and sure of himself because of the hand upon his bridle. Therefore he snuffed the air with quivering nostril, and pawed the earth with an impatient hoof,--eager for the fray.

Now all at once Sir Mortimer laughed again, louder than before, and in that same moment his gray swerved and cannoned lightly against "The Terror," and--reared back only just in time to avoid the vicious snap of two rows of gleaming teeth.

"d.a.m.nation!" cried Sir Mortimer, very nearly unseated, "can't you manage that brute of yours!" and he struck savagely at "The Terror"

with his whip. But Barnabas parried the blow, and now--even as they stared and frowned upon each other, so did their horses, the black and the gray, glare at each other with bared teeth.

But, here, a sudden shout arose that spread and spread, and swelled into a roar; the swaying line of hors.e.m.e.n surges forward, bends, splits into plunging groups, and man and horse are off and away--the great Steeplechase has begun.

Half a length behind Carnaby's gray gallops "The Terror," fire in his eye, rage in his heart, for there are horses ahead of him, and that must not be. Therefore he strains upon the bit, and would fain lengthen his stride, but the hand upon his bridle is strong and compelling.

On sweeps the race, across the level and up the slope; twice Sir Mortimer glances over his shoulder, and twice he increases his pace, yet, as they top the rise, "The Terror" still gallops half a length behind.