A Bayard From Bengal Part 7

But whence did it proceed? He ran to and fro in uncontrollable excitement, endeavouring to locate the sound. There was no trace of a horse in any of the waiting-rooms, but at length he discovered that his mare had been locked up in the Left-Luggage department, and, summoning a porter, Mr Bhosh had at last the indescribable felicity to embrace his kidnapped Derby favourite _Milky Way_!

CHAPTER XII

A RACE AGAINST TIME

There's a certain old Sprinter; you've got to be keen, If you'd beat him--although he is bald, And he carries a clock and a mowing-machine.

On the cinderpath "Tempus" he's called.

_Stanza written to order by young English friend, but (I fear) copied from Poet Tennyson._

Ah! with what perfervid affection did Mr Bhosh caress the neck of his precious horse! How carefully he searched her to make sure that she had sustained no internal poisonings or other dilapidations!

Thank goodness! He was unable to detect any flaw within or without--the probability being that the crafty d.u.c.h.ess did not dare to commit such a breach of decorum as to poison a Derby favourite, and thought to accomplish her fell design by leaving the mare as lost luggage and destroying the ticket-receipt.

But old Time had already lifted the gla.s.s to his lips, and the contents were rapidly running down, so Mr Bhosh, approaching a railway director, politely requested him to hook a horse-box on to the next Epsom train.

What was his surprise to hear that this could not be done until all Derby trains had first absented themselves! With pa.s.sionate volubility he pleaded that, if such a law of Medes and Persians was to be insisted on, _Milky Way_ would infallibly arrive at Epsom several hours too late to compete in the Derby race, in which she was already morally victorious--until at length the official relented, and agreed to do the job for valuable consideration in hard cash.

Lackadaisy! after excavating all his pockets, our unhappy hero could only fork out wherewithal enough for third-cla.s.s single ticket for himself, and he accordingly pet.i.tioned that his mare might travel as baggage in the guard's van.

I am not to say whether the officials at this leading terminus were all in the pay of the d.u.c.h.ess, since I am naturally reluctant to advance so serious a charge against such industrious and talented parties, but it is _nem. con._ that Mr Bhosh's very reasonable request was nilled in highly offensive cut-and-dried fas.h.i.+on, and he was curtly recommended to walk himself and his horse off the platform.

_Que faire?_ How was it humanly possible for any horse to win the Derby race without putting in an appearance? And how was _Milky Way_ to put in her appearance if she was not allowed access to any Epsom train? A less wilful and persevering individual than Mr Bhosh would have certainly succ.u.mbed under so much red-tapery, but it only served to arouse Bindabun's monkey.

"How far is the distance to Epsom?" he inquired.

"Fourteen miles," he was answered.

"And what o'clock the Derby race?"

"About one P.M."

"And it is now just the middle of the day!" exclaimed Bindabun. "Very well, since it seems _Milky Way_ is not to ride in the railway, she shall cover the distance on shank's mare, for I will ride her to Epsom in _propria persona_!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ROAD WAS CHOCKED FULL WITH EVERY DESCRIPTION OF CONVEYANCE (Ill.u.s.tration VII)]

So courageous a determination elicited loud cheers from the bystanders, who cordially advised him to put his best legs foremost as he mounted his mettlesome crack, and set off with broken-necked speed for Epsom.

I must request my indulgent readers to excuse this humble pen from depicting the horrors of that wild and desperate ride. Suffice it to say that the road was chocked full with every description of conveyance, and that Mr Bhosh was haunted by two terrible apprehensions, viz., that he might meet with some shocking upset, and that he should arrive the day after the fair.

As he urged on his headlong career, he was constantly inquiring of the occupants of the various vehicles if he was still in time for the Derby, and they invariably hallooed to him that if he desired to witness the spectacle he was to buck himself up.

Mr Bhosh bucked himself up to such good purpose that, long before the clock struck one, his eyes were gladdened by beholding the summit of Epsom grand stand on the distant hill-tops.

Leaning himself forward, he whispered in the sh.e.l.l-like ear of _Milky Way_: "Only one more effort, and we shall have preserved both our bacons!"

But, alas! he had the mortification to perceive that the legs of _Milky Way_ were already becoming tremulous from incipient grogginess.

And now, beloved reader, let me respectfully beg you to imagine yourself on the Epsom Derby Course immediately prior to the grand event. What a marvellous human farrago! All cla.s.ses hobn.o.bbing together higgledy-piggledy; archbishops with acrobats; benchers with b.u.mpkins; counts with candlestickmakers; dukes with druggists; and so on through the entire alphabet. Some spectators in carriages; others on _terra firma_; flags flying; bands blowing; innumerable refreshment tents rearing their heads proudly into the blue Empyrean; policemen gazing with smiling countenances on the happy mult.i.tudes when not engaged in running them in.

Now they are conducting the formality of weighing the horses, to see if they are qualified as compet.i.tors for the Derby Gold Cup, and each horse, as it steps out of the balancing scales and is declared eligible, commences to prance jubilantly upon the emerald green turf.

(_N.B._-The writer of above realistic description has never been actually present at any Derby Race, but has done it all entirely from a.s.siduous cramming of sporting fictions. This is surely deserving of recognition from a generous public!)

Now follows a period of dismay--for _Milky Way_, the favourite of high and low, is suddenly discovered to be still the dark horse! The only person who exhibits gratification is the d.u.c.h.ess d.i.c.kinson, who makes her entrance into the most fas.h.i.+onable betting ring and, accosting a leading welsher, cries in exulting accents: "I will bet a million to a monkey against _Milky Way_!"

Even the welsher himself is appalled by the enormity of such a stake and earnestly counsels the d.u.c.h.ess to subst.i.tute a more economical wager, but she scornfully rejects his well-meant advice, and with a trembling hand he inscribes the bet in his welching book.

No sooner has he done so than the saddling bell breaks forth into a joyous chime, and the crowd is convulsed by indescribable emotions.

"Huzza! huzza!" they shout. "Welcome to the missing favourite, and three cheers for _Milky Way_!"

The d.u.c.h.ess had turned as pale as a witch, for, galloping along the course, she beholds Mr Bhosh, bereft of his tall hat and covered with perspiration and dust, on the very steed which she fondly hoped had been mislaid among the left luggage!

CHAPTER XIII

A SENSATIONAL DERBY STRUGGLE

Is it for sordid pelf that horses race?

Or can it be the glory that they go for?

Neither; they know the steed that shows best pace Will get his flogging all the sooner over!

_Reflection at a Racecourse.--H. B. J._

The d.u.c.h.ess, seeing that her plot was foiled by the unexpected arrival of Mr Bhosh, made the frantic endeavour to hedge herself behind another bet of a million sterling to a monkey that _Milky Way_ was to come off conqueror--but in vain, since none of the welshers would concede such very long odds.

So, wrapping her features in a veil of feminine duplicity, she advanced swimmingly to meet Mr Bhosh. "How lucky that you have arrived on the neck of time!" she said. "And you have ridden all the way from town?

Tell me now, would not you and your dear horse like some refreshment after so tedious a journey?"

"Madam," said Mr Bhosh, bowing to his saddle-bow, while his optics remained fixed upon the d.u.c.h.ess with a withering glare. "We are not taking any--from _your_ hands."

This crus.h.i.+ng sarcasm totally abashed the d.u.c.h.ess, who perceived that he had penetrated her schemes and crept away in discomfiture.

After this incident _Milky Way_ was subjected to the ordeal of trying her weight, which she pa.s.sed with honours. For--very fortunately as it turned out--the twenty-four hours' starvation which she had endured as left luggage had reduced her to the prescribed number of _maunds_, which she would otherwise have infallibly exceeded, since Mr Bhosh, being as yet a tyro in training Derby cracks, had allowed her to acquire a superfluous obesity.

Thus once more the machinations of the d.u.c.h.ess had only benefited the very individual they were intended to injure!

But it remained necessary to hire a practical jockey, since Cadwallader Perkin was still lamenting in dust and ashes at home, so Mr Bhosh ran about from pillow to post endeavouring to borrow a rider for _Milky Way_.

Owing, probably, to the d.u.c.h.ess's artifices, he encountered nothing but refusals and pleas of previous engagement--until, at the end of the tether of his patience, he said: "Since my mare cannot compete in a riderless condition, I myself will a.s.sume command and steer her to victory!"