"Sir," he began, "b'gad--!" here he paused to clear his throat
loudly once or twice--"a devil incarnate! Fourteen minutes and a half,
by my watch, and devil a spur! I'd have lent you my boots had there
been time, I would, b'gad! As it is, if you've any desire to shake
hands with a--ha!--with a fellow--hum!--in a dirty coat--why--here's
mine, b'gad!"
"Captain the Honorable Marmaduke Slingsby--Mr. Beverley--The Marquis
of Jerningham--Mr. Beverley. And now," said the Viscount, as
Barnabas shook hands, "now tell 'em why you bought the horse, Bev."
"I was hoping, sirs," said Barnabas, rather diffidently, "that I
might perhaps have the honor of riding in the Steeplechase on the
fifteenth."
Hereupon the Captain struck his riding boot a resounding blow with
his whip, and whistled; while the Marquis dangled his eyeglass by
its riband, viewing it with eyes of mild surprise, and the Viscount
glanced from one to the other with an enigmatical smile upon his lips.
"That would rest with Carnaby to decide, of course," said the
Captain at last.
"Why so?" inquired Barnabas.
"Because--well, because he--is Carnaby, I suppose," the Captain
answered.
"Though Jerningham has the casting-vote," added the Viscount.
"True," said the Marquis, rearranging a fold of his cravat with a
self-conscious air, "but, as Sling says--Carnaby is--Carnaby."
"Sirs," began Barnabas, very earnestly, "believe me I would spare no
expense--"
"Expense, sir?" repeated the Marquis, lifting a languid eyebrow;
"of course it is no question of 'expense'!" Here the Viscount looked
uncomfortable all at once, and Barnabas grew suddenly hot.
"I mean," he stammered, "I mean that my being entered so late in the
day--the fees might be made proportionately heavier--double them if
need be--I should none the less be--be inestimably indebted to you;
indeed I--I cannot tell you--" Now as Barnabas broke off, the
Marquis smiled and reached out his hand--a languid-seeming hand,
slim and delicate, yet by no means languid of grip.
"My dear Beverley," said he, "I like your earnestness. A
race--especially this one--is a doocid serious thing; for some of us,
perhaps, even more serious than we bargain for. It's going to be a
punishing race from start to finish, a test of endurance for horse
and man, over the worst imaginable country. It originated in a match
between Devenham on his 'Moonraker' and myself on 'Clinker,' but
Sling here was hot to match his 'Rascal,' and Carnaby fancied his
'Clasher,' and begad! applications came so fast that we had a field
in no time."
"Good fellows and sportsmen all!" nodded the Captain. "Gentlemen
riders--no tag-rag, gamest of the game, sir."
"Now, as to yourself, my dear Beverley," continued the Marquis
authoritatively, "you 're doocid late, y' know; but then--"
"He can ride," said the Viscount.
"And he's game," nodded the Captain.