Thomas Nelson Page

“ He set about grooming the horse with the enthusiasm of a boy, and the horse after the first inquisitive investigation of his new attendant, made with eye and nose, gave himself up to his care. The young owner did the same, only watching him closely to learn the art of grooming from a past-master of the craft.
It was the first time in years that Robin had played hostler; and it was the first time in his life that that horse had ever had such a grooming. Every art known to the professor of the science was applied. Every muscle was rubbed, every sinew was soothed. ”

“ Before the big event the paddock was thronged with those who came to see the horses. A curious crowd they were—stout men, heavy-jawed and coarse-lipped; thin men, sharp-eyed and fox-faced; small, keen men, evil-looking boys, and round-faced, jovial-looking fellows—all stamped with horse. ”

“ As to this everybody in sight this spring afternoon was agreed; and the motley crowd that a little before sunset stood clustered within the big white-painted gate of the grounds about the Jockey Club race-stables rarely agreed as to anything. From the existence of the Deity to the effect of a blister on a windgall, through the whole range of stable-thought and horse-talk, there was no subject, speaking generally, on which that mongrel population agreed, except, of course, on one thing—the universal desirability of whiskey. ”

“ Most of those with her were men considerably older than herself. They appeared, rather, friends of her father, Colonel Ashland, a distinguished-looking gentleman, known to turfmen as the owner of one of the best stock-farms in the country. He loved horses, but never talked of them. The young lady had just left school, and had never seen a steeplechase before, and her eagerness kept her companions in continual merriment. ”

“ He took the bridle just as he might have done years before had his old master ridden up to the gate.
The act impressed the gang behind him as few things could have done, and though they nudged one another, they fell back and huddled together rather farther away, and only whispered their ridicule among themselves.
The boy sprang from the saddle, and the old man took possession of the horse.
They were a strange-looking pair, horse and rider, fresh from the country, both of them dusty and travel-stained, and, as the stable-boys whispered among themselves, both “starving for the curry-comb.” ”

“ Just then the first bell sounded, and the hostlers began to get the horses ready to appear before the judges, while the riders went off to weigh in, and the crowd began to stream back to the stands. As the group turned away, the young owner took the rose from the loop and, with a shy look around, hid it in the breast of his jacket. His eye followed the white hat till it passed out of the paddock gate.
“Do you really think that horse can win?” asked Mr. Newby of the young lady, as they strolled along. “Because I tell you he can't. I thought you were a sport. ”

“ Robin glanced at the angry pawnbroker, but he did not have time to argue then. The horse galloping up the long slope before the stables engrossed his attention. He simply edged away from his reviler, who went off to “hedge” his bets, if possible.
“He 's a good horse, but he 's out of the race,” said one of the gentlemen who had been bantering Miss Ashland.
“Yes, but he never had a chance—a mere flash. You can't expect a common pick-up to run against a field like that.”
Mr. Newby turned back to the girl, who was leaning forward watching the horse going over the hill. ”

“ Into this odorous establishment old Robin now went and had a brief interview with the proprietor, whose surprise at the old trainer's proposition was unfeigned. As he knew Robin was not a gambler, the money-lender could set down his request to only one of two causes: either he had lost on a race that day, or he had “points” which made him willing to put up all he could raise on a horse next day. He tried him on the first.
“Had bad luck to-day? I lost a pile myself,” he began insinuatingly. “Thim scoundrels 'll bate ivery horse they say a man look at. It 's a regular syn-dicate.” ”

“ He ain't a hoss at all; he 's a bud!” he shouted. “Let him go, son; let him go! You 'll win yet.”
But horse and rider were beyond the reach of his voice, galloping up the slope.
Once more they all disappeared behind the hill, and once more the leaders came out, one ahead of the others, then two together, then two more, running along the inside of the fence toward the last jumps, where they would strike the clear track and come around the turn into the home stretch. The other horses were trailing behind the five leaders when they went over the hill. ”

“ Newby. “Will you allow that I can pick a horse better than you? If so, I 'll let you off.”
“He pulled him out to avoid striking those other men,” declared the girl, warmly. “I saw him.”
“Oh, nonsense! Who ever heard of a man pulling out in a steeplechase to avoid striking another horse? I have heard of a man pulling out to avoid killing his own horse; but that boy pulled out because his horse refused. That horse had more sense than he. He knew he could n't take it. Hello! what 's he doing?” For young Johnston, his face set hard, had turned his horse and headed him again toward the jump. ”

“ The young owner yielded with a laugh, and the old trainer took possession of the horse, and led him on, stopping every now and then to run his hand over his sinewy neck and forelegs, and grumbling to himself over the rashness of youth.
“Jes like he pa,” he muttered. “Never could teach him to tek keer o' a hoss. Think all a hoss got to do is to run! Forty mile, an' want to put him at a five-foot fence when he cold as a wedge!” ”

“ Robin was up by light, looking after the horse; and the young owner, after waiting long enough to take another lesson in the proper handling of a horse about to run, excused himself, and, leaving the horse with the old trainer, went out, he said, “to exercise for his wind.” This was a long walk; but the young rider's walk took him now, not along the track or the road, but along the steeplechase course, marked by the hurdles ”

“ The crowd in the stands, carried away, burst into a storm of applause, and the gentlemen about the young girl of the big white hat clapped their hands.
Old Robin, down in the paddock, was shouting and talking volubly to a crowd of strangers.
“He 's a jumper! He 's got de pedigree. Dat 's blood. You ain' see my old master's hosses befo'.”
“Your old master's horses!” growled a gruff voice behind him. “You made me lose fifty dollars on yer blanked horse wid yer blanked lies. You 'll pay it back or yer won't see that watch ag'in.” ”

“ You keep your eyes open. Dese heah Yankee hosses don' always have dey own way——”
“I try to, but thim sheenies! Tell me what you know?” His voice was a cajoling whisper now. “They says Hurricane's—or is it Swallow's—!” He was looking with exaggerated interest at something in his hand, waiting in hopes that Robin would take up the sentence and complete it.
Robin chuckled, and the chuckle was worth what he wanted.
“Swallow 's too fat; Hurricane 's good, but it 's muscle an' wind an' de blood what tells in de last mile—blood an' bottom. You keep yer eye on a dark hoss. Gi' me meh money.” ”

“ As he entered the stall the young owner was on his knees in a corner, and before him was an open portmanteau from which he was taking something that made the old man's eyes glisten: an old jacket of faded orange-yellow silk, and a blue cap—the old Bullfield colors, that had once been known on every course in the country, and had often led the field.
Robin gave an exclamation.
“Le' me see dat thing!” He seized the jacket and held it up.
“Lord, Lord! I 's glad to see it,” he said. “I ain' see it for so long. It 's like home. ”

“ He 's safe!” she cried. She turned to Newby who stood next to her. “Ask quarter and I 'll let you off.”
“He 'll never be able to stand the track. It 's fetlock-deep.”
But at that moment the horses turned into the track, and the real race began. Newby's prophecy went to the winds. As was seen, the leaders were riding against each other. They had dropped out of account all the other horses. They had not even seen the brown. The first thing they knew was the shout from the crowd ahead of them, blown down to them hoarsely as the big brown horse wheeled into the stretch behind them. ”

“ He can out-gallop any horse in the State in mud.”
Robin looked at the young man keenly. He showed more shrewdness than he had given him credit for.
“Kin he jump in mud?” he demanded.
“He can jump in anything. He can fly. ”

“ The country boy was coming up, and was holding his horse in, too. The riders were settling themselves and spreading out, getting their horses in hand for the long gallop.
In fact, the old trainer's last piece of advice to his young pupil was worthy of a Delphic track,
“Don' let 'em lef you; but don't let 'em wind you. Don't git so far behind 't folks 'll think you 's ridin' in de next race; but save him for de last half-mile. You 'll have plenty o' room den to let him out, an' de track 's mighty heavy. Watch Hurricane an' Fightin' Creek. ”

“ She 's de on'ies one as bet on him,” asserted old Robin. “Dat young lady knows a good hoss.”
“Who is that boy?” asked Mr. Newby, as the horse was led away.
“A green country boy with a pedigree,” said a low voice at his shoulder.
“Where does he come from!”
“Virginia,” said Colonel Ashland. “And his name is Theodoric Johnston. It 's bred in the bone.”
Next morning as young Johnston rode his horse out of the stable gate, old Robin walked at his side. Just in front of the pawn-shop Robin pulled out his watch and examined it carefully. ”

“ He 's got to go around once and a half yet.”
“The blue is leading.” “Red-jacket is coming up.” “The green is done for,” etc.
So it went, with the horses coming around the curve for the second time. The favorite and about half the others were running well, their riders beginning to take the pace they proposed to keep to the end. ”