The Last Hurdle. A story of sporting and courting

Front matter

a ©ton? of Sporting ano Courting. BY FRANK HUDSON. LONDON: WARD & DOWNEY, 12 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 188 8. [AU Rights reserved.] EDINBURGH COLSTON AND COMPANY PRINTERS TO William Brereton Ibuoson THIS VOLUME is DEDICATED. CONTENTS. CHAP. P.1GK I. At the Olympic Club, II. Some Outsiders, . 1 12 III. I PROMISE TO GO TO MONGRATH, IV. I START FOR IRELAND, 19 24 V. In Mongrath, 31 37 VI. Racers and Eoses, VII. A Visit to the Trainer's, VIII. A Little Dinner, 50 GO IX. With Mabel, CT X. An Afternoon Ride, XL The Sloother, 74 84 XII. Those Boys, 95 XIII. Under Police Protection, XIV. Studdart House, 103 Ill XV A Retrospect, 118 XVI. The Ballybough Cup, CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XVII. After the Race, 129 XVIII. Uncle John speaks out, XIX. "All Right," 134 143 XX. All Wrong, XXI. "All Off," 148 162 XXII.

I see Something startling, XXIII. A Long Night, 170 177 184 XXIV. At Exercise once again, XXV. Weights for the Humewood Hurdle Race, XXVI. High Life below Stairs, . 190 196 XXVII. One Thing and Another, XXVIII. Foul Play, . 207 215 XXIX. A Poaching Affray, XXX. Found Out, . 224 232 XXXI. Evicted, 247 XXXII. Bad News, 259 XXXIII. That Little Mountain Boy, XXXIV. Rosey goes Home, . 268 275 XXXV Where is George ? 286 XXXVI. The Great Humewood Hurdle Race, Conclusion, . 293

Chapter I. At The Olympic Club

(S^SpyOGS are not admitted at the Olympic. 0 ttFJ am therefore rather surprised on beholding a remarkably curious-looking specimen of the canine tribe listlessly walk into the smoking-room, and, after pausing to scratch his off side, survey the surroundings with blinking languor. He is very long, very narrow, and coated with mud-coloured wool ; but for his colossal ears, he would pass for a sample of some new breed of sheep. One of those ears stands bolt upright, and the other droops gracefully over his left eye. I never saw such a dog before. I am the only human being in the A room, and it has taken him fully three minutes to discover me. The instant he does so, he gives three hoarse barks of defiance, and then runs under one of the lounges. While wondering who pays the creature's tax, a servant enters bearing a card.

I take it and read — " John DAlton Ffeench." " The gentleman has a dog, sir," remarks the sober and respectable. Where is it ? " I innocently inquire. Well, it tuere in the hall, sir. " All right, I'll see about it." And I go down to Jack. While shaking hands with him, the dog turns up. " Ah ! you brute ! where have you been ? " cries Jack, shaking his fist at him. " I never saw such a dog for wanderings and investigations, Gerald ; his mania for discovery is simply marvellous." " The worst of it is that dogs are 'forbidden here, Jack. But come into this side-room — I don't suppose the secretary will hang us for bringing your favourite only thus far." We enter the little spare room off the hall. Its entire furniture consists of an old sofa and two battered arm-chairs. Into one of them Jack sinks, and, holding the dog between his knees, produces an extremely realistic Irish clay pipe, which he proceeds to load with some rank-looking shag from a piece of newspaper.

He decides on par taking of a bottle of stout, and when the latter is brought, and the pipe alight, he remarks : — " Well, and what have you been doing all this age ? Been away anywhere ? " " Nowhere far from London town. I have more or less haunted the local meetings during the season." " Any luck ? "Not much," I answer. "I pulled off a couple of doubles, and they pulled me through a bit." "Then I suppose you have given up writing altogether ? " " No, I intend goingin for literature — when the racing is over. But before we go any further, tell me, my dear Jack, where on earth you found that extraordinary-looking dog ? " " This dog ? " he answers, trying to make the drooping ear stand straight. " Well, as you say, he is rather an uncommon-looking animal. His breed is a mystery. I incline to the opinion that he is the outcome of a complete syndicate of breeds.

Anyhow, I found him, a puppy, in Long Acre. I expect he fell out of a sausage ■i THE LAST HURDLE. machine, and escaped into the street unknown to the machinist. My diggings are now in a lonely part of Highgate, and my landlady is awfully nervous in the matter of burglars, so I told her that Hotfrost — I call him so because of his hot temper and cold nose — was belonging to a great and famous breed of watch-dogs, and was a regular gold-mine to an unprotected house. The dear old lady quite jumped at the idea, and now boards and lodges Hotfrost, who in return for services rendered, barks at everything, from cats to policemen, all night long." " I see ; and now what are you doing with yourself ? " I ask. " Oh, nothing particular. I am writing a guide to otter-hunting for the Hunt Herald, society news for the Glass of Fashion, with now and again an article on the Roman poets for the Dramatic News.

That's all I have got at pre sent. The whole lot brings me in about three guineas a week, taking one week with another." And Jack, still keeping his hand on Hotfrost's ear, leans back in his chair, and puffs out volumes of smoke towards the ceiling. Three guineas a week is, to a man with Jack's knowledge of London, a munificent income. I note that he looks better, and is better dressed, than when I last saw him. A very deep study is Jack. Everybody knows him, yet he has no regular " chum," and seems, as a rule, to prefer his own company to all other. I daresay I am the oldest friend he has got, yet it is quite an event when he calls to see me. As to anyone calling on him, it is simply a waste of time. His landlady has the one answer for all callers : " Mr Ffrench is not at home." No fellow has ever yet succeeded in penetrating to Jack's lair.

He can write — write well, on any subject, and any style of composition, from a race report to a novelette or burlesque, but is care less to a degree, and his copy, consequently, re quires a lot of dressing. He is the best dramatic and musical critic I ever knew, and the best judge of a horse's private form in town. He has suffered silently the greatest privation — ay, starvation, from time to time, but has always come up smiling at the finish. Poor old Jack ! He has not been with me for more than ten minutes, and already he seems quite oblivious of my presence, as, lost in thought, he puffs that vile shag smoke to the ceiling. Suddenly he wakes up, — " You know, Gerald, this Mary Andrews boom is all rubbish. She has no dramatic genius what ever. The Times and Telegraph were quite right. She has plenty of talent, and holds her art on her finger ends, but she has not genius, as Ellen Terry, Madge Kendal, and the divine Sarah all have.

She cannot bring tears to your eyes." " You would be boycotted, if heard saying so here," I reply, "for we Olympians hold her to be a star of the highest magnitude." " Then you are all a lot of confounded fools ! " exclaims Jack decisively. " What did I tell you all here last year, the week before the Humewood Cup was run ? You and the rest of the sporting members present swore by The Raker, just be cause he won the Ealing Stakes hands down. Didn't I tell you The Bird would beat him on the Humewood course, and win easily ? " " You did," I confess. " And didn't The Bird win in a canter, at thirty three to one ? " " He did." " Well, now, look here, Gerald," and Jack leans forward in a confidential sort of way. " In the first week of December comes off the Humewood Hurdle Race. The prize is five thousand guineas."

" Five thousand guineas ! " I exclaim. " What ! for a mere hurdle race ? " " My dear boy, this race has been organised for the express purpose of giving new life to the sport. Steeplechasing and the sticks have been flagging for some time in England, and want a corpse reviver, so the Humewood people have put their heads together, and the result is the forthcoming hurdle race. The entries are not published yet, but when they are, you will find that almost every jumper in training has entered. And I happen to know something." " You do ? " " I do. When the list is published, you will find among the light weights a horse quite unknown, and trained in Ireland. It will be named The Keirogue." " Hello, Gerald ! The speaker is my cousin, George Mongrath. After Jack has punched Hotfrost into silence, I introduce the two.

" Well, and how the devil are you ? " cries George, in his fresh, strong voice, telling of pure country air. " Oh, all right ; when did you come to town ? " " I left Ireland on Monday," he answers, sinking on to the sofa, " and booked through for Bucking hamshire, to see Uncle Ben, who is not in the best of health. You should go down to see him, Gerald ; he asked about you. I left him this morning, and here I am. How are all the boys ? Has Spier got his comedy produced yet, or has Langton sent The Fiddler into training again ? " "I believe The Fiddler has gone to the stud. As for Spiers' comedy, it appears the fair Lucy returned it, as the chief part did not suit her." " She can't act a bit ! " exclaims Jack. " Do you think so ? " observes George. " Now, I always thought her rather good." " I'm sorry I cannot agree with you," replies Jack ; then rising, he says, " Now, Gerald, I'm off."

" Oh, stay and dine with us ; the weekly dinner is on to-day," I say. " No, thanks," and out he goes, followed by Hotfrost. I follow him to the hall door. " I say, Jack, I wish you would stay and dine. Do, like a good fellow ; I haven't seen you for such a long time." "Well, you see," he replies, with a humorous twinkle, " eating a dinner gives one a bad habit." Well, chance the result, and stay." What ! dog and all ? " Oh ! put him up somewhere." "All right," he says; "I'll be back in half an hour," and off he goes. "Rum sort of chap your friend Ffrench," remarks George, as we both ascend to the smoking-room. " One of the Tullakeil Ffrenches, I suppose ? " " I expect so ; but wild horses could never draw from him anything about his family. He is, as you say, a rum chap ; but he's all right when you know him."

" But you've got to know him first, I suppose. Look here, Gerald, when are you coming over to Mongrath ? — the governor and mother are con stantly asking me to bring you back there. Why, you haven't been in Ireland since you left for Oxford." " No indeed. It is quite twelve years since I quitted the Emerald Isle ; as for Mongrath, I have never been there yet." " I know you haven't," he replies. " Now look here, Gerald. You once talked of writing an Irish novel ; now is your chance to study the country. Make up your mind, and come over with me. You have nothing to do. I have a horse in training for the big December hurdle race, and I think it will win. Come over and look at him. And if you have any thoughts of a married life, why, there is our cousin Mabel, a real live heiress, staying with us."

" I thought you were booked for the Mabel stakes ? " I remark. " No," he answers slowly, and then, after a pause, " Gerald, I am over head and ears in love, but not with cousin Mabel." " No ? " " No ; the lady is an actress : I won't tell you her name just yet. The deuce of it is that the dad, like all other old-fashioned Irishmen, has a horror of theatrical people." " Ah ; yes. I see trouble ahead there, George. Has the lady consented ? " " I have not asked her yet. You see, I only know her such a short time. Very likely when I ask her to marry me, she will laugh at me. She has already refused numerous offers, including the Duke of Folfont, who is supposed to be a great catch." " Oh, he is an idiot ! " I exclaim. " Yes," replies George. " But some girls appear to like idiots for husbands, provided they have plenty of money, and a good big title." Presently Jack returns minus Hotfrost, and we argue on sport and the drama until dinner time.

Chapter II Some Outsiders

jHE weekly club dinner is in full swing, and, for the season of the year, is very well attended. Old Lord John Branfield is in the chair, looking quite proud and happy. The old boy dyes his moustache, but allows his scanty locks to remain grey, and the effect is funny. That little object attached to a big moustache, sitting on the right of the chair, is a member of parliament, and owner of a small string of racers. He went over to America a few years ago, and married an heiress. She was not a Virginian, being simply the daughter of an eminent pork contractor. My reason for stating her parentage, is born of the fact that she is now a prominent Primrose Dame, and a great up holder of "Our Queen and Constitution ! " as she phrases it, in her very numerous speeches. The SOME OUTSIDERS. daughter of a republican pork contractor posing as champion of the most fossiliferous Toryism, is distinctly precious !

What this woman's American relations must think of her making such a fool of herself, and what her sister English Dames must whisper to each other, would be worth knowing. Fancy an American bringing back an aristocratic English bride to his native land, and fancy said bride spouting at some political meeting on " Our glorious Republic ! " Perhaps Mous tachio is partly to blame, or, rather, tvas partly to blame. He spent more of his time in the House than in his home. Young wives should never be left much alone. Moustachio came to find the truth of this assertion, by actually re turning home earlier than usual one evening, and, on letting himself in with his latch-key, discover ing the wife of his bosom being spooned by a cal low youth, with a glittering title. The affair was hushed up ; the juvenile Juan was packed off to India for change of air, by papa ; and the lady forsook love-making for politics, and now frequently composes her husband's parliamentary speeches.

The little gentleman in evening dress, who looks so very like a waiter, is Sir William Settelle, Bart. He is also a racing man, but seldom wins anything. He is very proud of his title, and has informed me on more than one occasion, that it dates from James the Second. And so it does. The first baronet of his line was one William Settle, a keeper of a small inn on the borders of North London. At that period, James of Holy Memory was selling baronetcies for what they would fetch. William the innkeeper got his for sixty pounds. He then shut up his inn, changed his name to Settelle, and lived happy ever after wards. This present holder of the title is so awfully particular that he would not think of sitting down to dinner here unless he donned his evening dress, though not one of the other members ever think of doffing their morning suits.

This Club was founded for the express purpose of being a rendezvous of sporting and literary men of good standing. In this much it differs from the famous Redskin, which is a strictly nonsporting club. But, though sporting and literary people, we are also dramatic and musical, and — while beneath the Olympian roof — are just as Bohemian as the Redskins. If we have a billiard-room, and sporting-tissue boards, we have also a private theatre and a grand piano. SOME OUTSIDERS. There are certain people one has to recognise sometimes, yet whom one does not care about introducing into one's home circle. Many such people are consequently seen as guests at our club dinner. There is one ; that middle-aged, lantern jawed, bilious-looking man who tries ' to appear as if he enjoyed his dinner immensely.

He is proprietor of a lady's Magazine of Fashion, the title of which escapes my memory. He hails from the States, and when he arrived in London, brought with him a cargo of " bounce," which was promptly kicked out of him. His original business in New York was that of a " lady's tailor," and, as may be supposed, his knowledge of literature and art is simply nil. Hence it was amusing, when he first started his Magazine, to hear him giving " instructions " to those artists and authors who condescended to work for him. He addressed them — men of high rank in their callings — as if he was giving orders to one of his clerks. This tickled them at first, but grow ing weary of it, they snubbed the poor man un mercifully. However, it brought him to a sense of his proper station. That cat-eyed man with the immense head is a regular mystery to me.

I cannot quite make him out. He is a barrister, and was never heard of until he defended some Indian prince v. the Queen. The trial took place in Calcutta, and our barrister netted ten thousand pounds for his services. He defended his client so successfully that the unfortunate prince was sentenced to be hanged. But the case excited great comment both at home and in India, and Cat's-eyes, making the most of his opportunities, wormed himself, with that monstrous nose of his, into Anglo-Indian society, for that nose would worm its way into anything. One of the crack regiments was ordered home from India, and Cat's-eyes thought he would come over with them. By the time the ship arrived, he was hail fellow-well-met with all the officers. Through them he got " taken up " by a section of " society," and is here as Lord John's guest.

He thiaks of starting a society paper. Yes, he is just the man to live on the follies of his betters. Another arrant humbug is that fat and bare faced fellow, with the stereotyped smile of as sumed good fellowship. He was originally a teacher of shorthand, and earned at his business about thirty shillings per week. A friend of his, somehow or other, managed to start a little weekly trade paper in the interests of basket-makers, and SOME OUTSIDERS. 17 Fat Face sent him an article on Indian baskets, cribbed and altered from an account in a Bombay paper. The friend was glad to get any " copy " he could, so Fat Face continued from week to week cribbing and altering articles on basket making ancient and modern, for which his friend paid him in sundry drinks. But Fat Face com menced to frequent some of those literary and journalistic bars in the neighbourhood of Fleet Street, and insinuated himself into the good graces of a few penny-a-liners, by dint of " push " and threes of Scotch, cold.

This ran away with a deal of his thirty shillings, but Fat Face was playing a deep game. By-and-by from penny-a liners he got to know " paragraph writers," some of whom he on occasions gave a few notes to, which notes, when expanded into twelve lines, brought the expander two-and-sixpence each, from the weekly Smudger and other papers of like class. About this time one might happen to see a " par.," sometimes in one paper and sometimes in another (all papers of the Smudger class) anent the " young and rising journalist, Paul Wingham," which was Fat Face, and which was inserted by Fat Face's friends, in return for the notes he gave them from time to time. Soon he B began to write little bits of gossip for those papers himself ; from gossip he rose to leaderettes ; from leaderettes to novelettes (all cribbed and altered, and with grammar boycotted).

At length he became editor of one of the papers. His salary was now four pounds per week, two of which he spent in cigars and drinks for those who would accept such. He became quite popular among a certain clique, and began to soar to higher papers. He is a clever man in some ways, for though he has never written one original line, or even any thing worth reading, still he has got on through mere force of will. One of his chief games is that of writing paragraphs about himself. He will unblushingly write and despatch to the editor of some paper where he is known, such " pars. " as this : — " Paul Wingham, with his handsome, clever face, was in great form in the Gaiety stalls last Saturday night." That's the sort of man he is. But dinner is over, and some of us return to the smoking - room — Jack, George, and myself amongst the number, leaving the rest to spin yarns and sing songs.

Chapter III

I PROMISE TO GO TO MONGRATH. IGHT of us are puffing away in the smoking-room, George leaning back in an easy-chair, his fair, handsome face looking decidedly thoughtful, and his big blue eyes filled with a far-away sort of look. He sees the actress in the dim distance. Wonder who she is ? My, curly-headed cousin is very much in love. Jack, who's solitary life up in those " diggings " in Highgate has rendered him shy and reserved among company, is beginning to thaw. He is now chatting with a famous Special about Venice. Such a knowledge does he display on the subject, that the Special asks him how long he resided there. Jack was never there in his life, and says so. Special astonished. Now Jack turns to a great musical critic, and holds his own in an argument on the Music of the Future. From music he turns to art, and astounds little Peel the Art Critic by telling him that " Modern Painters " is a tissue of ignorance and presumption disguised in eccentric phrases.

Peel rises and goes home dis gusted. Now Jack tackles a mighty big novelist, and asks him what he means by making one of his heros, who is a Cork man, use expressions c onfined to the North of Ireland ? Novelist says he understood that all Irishmen spoke alike. Jack down on him like a hundred of bricks,- — tells him he should take the trouble of visiting Ireland ere he sets about writing of it. This to the great man ! Now, he comes and sits beside me. "Look here, Gerald; I'm thinking of Hotfrost; I hope he hasn't done any mischief." " Where is the beast ? " " In a little pub. off the Strand. I told the potman to lock him into the cellar. You might come down there with me. It will do you any amount of good ; this room is so close." George won't stir ; so, promising to return, I leave with Jack.

The instant we are in the street, he pulls out the old pipe, fills it with tobacco, lights it with the fag of his cigar, and is happy. I PROMISE TO GO TO MONGRATH. " You know," he observes, " these clubs are all very well for men who are fond of companion ship ; I am not one of those. Hotfrost is my only constant pal, and he is sometimes a nuisance." We at length come to the " pub," and enter the " private compartment." A pretty little bar maid comes up smiling. " Well, Tottie, my love," exclaims Jack, " how has the bloodhound been getting on ? " At the sound of Jack's voice the " bloodhound " bounds from the far end of the bar and barks hoarsely with delight. " Oh ! there you are — are you ? " says Jack, leaning over the bar to look at him. " Did they give you anything to eat, eh ? " " I should think we did !

" replies the barmaid. "He kicked up such a jolly row in the cellar, that Tom had to let him out ; and when he got up here, he was all over the blessed shop ! so the missis gave him a feed of broken bread and meat to keep him quiet. He was asleep when you came •_ '* in. " Tell the missis I love her nearly as much as I do yourself, Tottie, my darling. Let the fiery untamed out to his lawful master, and give us a drink. What will you drink, Gerald ? Nominate your poison. Scotch, cold, for me, my ownest, while this man is considering." While the girl is getting the " Scotch, cold," Jack whispers to me, " Don't ask for stout or bitter — it's all wrong." I accordingly try the " Scotch, cold." Hotfrost is admitted to us, and Jack lectures him in set terms on his proceedings in the cellar. I am sorry to see that my friend has contracted a habit— easily contracted, and hard to give up — of using slang.

I am a sinner in the matter of sport ing slang myself, but Jack has a stock of " back " slang, thieves' slang, Jewish slang, costers' slang, and all other slangs, which he continuously draws upon. I wish he would give it up. Must talk to him on the matter some day. By-and-by the " Time is up, gentlemen," and Jack, guarded by Hotfrost, wanders towards High gate, while I return to the club. There I find George, still in a waking dream. I try to get him into conversation, but am not successful, until I hint that I really would like to go to Ireland. This rouses him. "Yes, Gerald, do come to Mongrath," he says. " The season is over here long ago — why, it is now the 28th of July ! I'll write home to-morrow, and I PROMISE TO GO TO MONGRATH. 23 say you will be with them on the first of next month.

Do you agree ? " " Yes," I reply, seeing how anxious he is, " That's a dear boy. We'll have a jolly time of it ; fishing, shooting, and riding to our hearts' content. And perhaps you will fall in love with Mabel, and then we'll have a brand new wedding." And we both laugh at the idea. So it is settled I am to start for Mongrath on the last day of this month.

Chapter IV

I START FOR IRELAND. LEAVE for Ireland by this evening's mail. Several fellows have called to-day, each and all of whom have strongly advised me to " look out for myself," to be well armed, and never by any chance walk along a road with hedges on each side. They half believe that every country hedge in Ireland conceals a regular line of assassins, from one end to the other. I wonder, in that case, how many assassins it would take to man a ten mile road ? I have not made my will. It would not occupy many minutes, but still, I have not done so. I would have to do so if I remained in town much longer though, for the heat is killing. My packing is over, thank good ness, and I am awaiting Jack, who is coming to see me off. I meet George at Euston. Six o'clock! timj t) be stirring. Here come I START FOR IRELAND.

Jack at last. He has left Hotfrost at home, thank goodness. I was afraid he would have brought the brute, and tell him so. " Oh ! dear no," he replies, as he poisons the room with that pipe. " Hotfrost objects to the interior of railway stations. Far too much noise and hurry there, to suit his ideas of safety. How are you going to Euston ? " " By cab, of course ? " " Cab be hanged, man ! Where are we going to sit, if all those traps are going with us in a growler ? " and the poison puffer points with that pipe to my baggage. I had not thought of that. While wondering how we are to get to Euston, Jack continues, — "Here's what you must do. Have the traps carted in a ' growler ' to the District Station — Glo'ster Road is the nearest — while we follow in a hansom. The train will take us from there to Gower Street and then we are almost at home."