Tartan and Gold. Tales of sport and play

Front matter

§ales of Jport cm6 3?Iag. BI BYEON WEBBEE, «=_ . i<. AUTHOR OF '•IN LUCK'S WAY," ETC. WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON, W.C. 1889. PRI.NTET1 BY KELLY AKD CO., MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-ON-THAMKS ; AND GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELD?, W.C. CONTENTS. PAGB TARTAN AND GOLD 3 LOVE IN A CIRCUS 65 CAUGHT OUT 79 HARRY 99 " HANSOM ! " 133 A VERY DARK HORSE 169 A COSTLY REVENGE 187 A LITTLE FEUD 219 BRAMBLE ROSE TO CHARLES W. BLAKE, Esq., M.E.C.V.S. Cougar") Editor of the Sporting Life, This Volume of Sporting Stories is heartily inscribed by his old friend and affectionate comrade, THE AUTHOR. Sayage Club, June, 1889. TARTAN" AND GOLD. TARTAN ©OLID.

Chapter I. The Sunday Before

There was one Sunday in the year upon which the Rev. Selwyn Honeycomb, incumbent of Holy Trinity, Underhill - on - Swirl, might always be reckoned upon (D.V.) to read two of his stock sermons, and that was the Sunday before the races. At other times, save on certain rare occasions that need not be specified, he was content to allow his curate, the Reverend Thomas Craw, a monopoly of the credit, lay and spiritual, which attached to keeping the congregation together, by means of rousing extemporaneous discourses and other exceptionally earnest rites. There were those who held that the incumbent was the better preacher of the two. Others, not so skilful in apprehending his meaning, which truth to tell, was habitually clouded by a turgid delivery, preferred the curate. His statements were uncommonly distinct.

Tinkling cymbals and sounding brass, Mr. Owen, the barber (a great authority) invariably replied when he was asked about one of Mr. Craw's discourses. Mr. Owen was a terrible 1-2 critic of clergymen and ministers of other denomina tions, whether they occupied pulpit or platform, and therefore his opinion was in constant request. He went about after new preachers and lecturers that had Reverend at one end of their names and capital letters at the other, as one has known young persons of talent go about after new actors and actresses to criticize them (as the operation is humorously de scribed), and keep the noble British drama from falling into decay. What Mr. Owen admired in the discourses of the incumbent was their Attic salt. And (severely to the Craw party) they must not talk to him about Mr. Honeycomb's elocution.

Only persons of vulgar minds would stoop, if, indeed, it was stooping on their part, to compare the utter ance of the incumbent, when he had plunged into one of his most eloquent passages, to that of a person striving to speak with his mouth full of plums. Now, Demosthenes ! It was remarked that while Mr. Owen often had recourse to Demosthenes to aid him in crushing an opponent he never got any further than the mouth ing of the name of that philosopher. But the way he hurled the syllables at the heads of his adver saries was deadly. The incumbent was easy-going and, materially, a good liver. The salmon (and there is no better fish than that caught in the Swirl j he had the pick of by common consent ; whether it was a scurf or a summercock, it was always the finest the nets could afford. Similarly with the sparling, which some folk call smelts, and with such things as samphire for pickling, or cress, or mushrooms gathered by Galloping Geordie in defiance of the law of trespass, in the distant dales.

Geordie invariably went to The Hollies, which was the name of Mr. Honeycomb's house, for handsell. Cremer, the fishmonger, was prepared to go bail that the parson was the best customer on his books, and out and out the best judge. You might (Cremer has been heard to say, confidentially, in his cups) pass a Prestonpans or a Cleethorpes oyster off for a native on to some people, he named no names, but never on to parson. He was not one of them sort. And he (Cremer) would just as soon think of humbugging the inspector of weights and measures with a stillyard a bit against the customer, as he would think of trying to get the best of Parson Honeycomb with a lemon sole. The church was full. Mr. Owen, the barber, the sole occupant of the corporation pew, which, in the ab sence of the municipal officers he entered as of right, being a burgess and a ratepayer, sat, as was his wont, well back in the cushion and with his head well up.

Manifestly he desired it to be made known to all observers that he was taking in and scrupu lously weighing every word. The choir had turned up in uncommon strength. Mr. Harpson, the organist, fresh from London, where he had had his accustomed feast of new opera, had played a solemn mockery of a fantasia on an air from the newest of the works he had heard, to the mystification of the musical part of the congregation and his own impish delight. Harpson rejoiced in the performance of such tricks and only laughed when he was found out. It had been a great night for the bass in the special anthem. On ordinary occasions that impres sive vocalist generally succeeded in asserting himself by dwelling on the last note a second or two longer than any one else ; but to-night he had proudly rolled out an ostentatious solo, and was ecstatic.

The Reverend Thomas Craw went through his part of the service with exemplary sternness. On the contrary Solomon Chipchase, the parish clerk (who was in splendid voice), threw an unusual amount of cordiality into his echoes and responses. The incumbent's pew was full. In addition .to Mrs. Honeycomb and her son Edmund, at home invalided (for the races), her brother Philip Talbot, and his niece Blanche listened, to-night, to the genial parson's ministrations. Mr. Talbot had rooms at the " Stork," where those of his horses that were engaged to run at the forthcoming meeting were stabled. Blanche was staying with her uncle and aunt at The Hollies. Blanche, a beautiful girl with a head and figure so moulded and poised as she stood in view of the congregation, as to make her seem " more than common tall," was the despair of the likely youth whom she had met and of others who had distantly adored at TJnderhill and in the neighbourhood.

A sweet girl with a temper of her own, was one description of the beauty. A girl who could wear anything and look well in it was another. There were those who found her proud ; others who said she was an iceberg ; and others who declared her a tomboy. Well, they all were somewhat right and every one of them a little wrong. A complexion of cream with a tinge of the straw berry in it ; in tranquillity the sweetest mouth you ever saw — and a mouth that was enchanting when it parted to smile or speak ; eyes of the brown (if it be brown) of pansies, and velvety like that flower ; eyebrows and the fair brow above, Greek ; head, Greek, and nose Greekish ; such was Blanche Talbot. A good girl, and her nature English — just as English and as sweet as sweet briar and one day-old hay after a shower. A rose of a girl, but precious thorny to those she favoured not.

It was noticed, as things are noticed in church during the sermon, that the niece of the incumbent was apparelled in the Talbot colours. The period had yet to be redeemed from its darkness by the production of vague and mysterious paintings called after pieces of music. Mr. Whistler was not yet, or no doubt some ingenious observer would have that night described Miss Talbot as a gavotte in gold. Buttercup yellow with abundant gold braid on jacket and cap were her father's racing colours. No wonder the Reverend Thomas Craw was austere. After three years' experience of Underhill-on-Swirl, he had arrived at the sad conclusion that on that day in the year,let the ministrations be what they might, the minds of the majority of the congregation were fain to dwell on worldly matters. Nothing escaped his observation.

He noted that while the beauty and livery (as he bitterly phrased it) of Miss Talbot drew eyes in the direction of the incumbent's pew as a magnet draws steel filings, the gaze of the diverted ones did not dwell there for long together. There was metal equally attractive in the correspond ing pew at the opposite side of the church. Miss Heloise Bramley, with her mother, father and cousin, excite an interest in some of the gazers similar to that caused by Miss Talbot and her father. The Bramleys may be said to be in Underhill for the races. It is true they occupy their own pew, one that has been in the possession of the family for generations, but they do not sit regularly under Mr. Honeycomb or Mr. Craw, his curate. During the greater part of the year they abide at their country house in the dales, twenty miles distant, where John Sebright, Miss Bramley's cousin, has a little bachelor box of his own, contiguous to the training stables.

Sebright and Uncle Ralph Bram ley are partners in sport as well as in the malting business which has been carried on here at Under hill by the Bramleys and Sebrights for centuries. Miss Bramley is a fair, blue-eyed girl with hair the colour of ripe wheat. Rival beauties, she and Blanche are personal friends, albeit at this moment their friendship is not as close as it once was. The gossips, who know everything, have discovered a reason for this. The girls represent rival interests. While Blanche is "all gold," Nelly (Heloise is kept for formal employment) stands forth proudly, some think combatively, in " blue and tartan." The Bramley colours as catalogued by the Calen dar, are tartan body, turquoise blue sleeves and cap. That night's service at Holy Trinity was on the whole devoid of incidents calculated to greatly per turb the spirit of the Reverend Thomas Craw.

The entrance of two persons (why had the verger ad mitted them ?) when the proceedings were three parts over, was of a piece with the perfunctory character of the whole business. The late-comers were strangers — one, a distinguished-looking young gentleman, quietly ensconced himself in the corpora tion pew along with Mr. Owen, the barber; the other shuffled into one of the free seats near the door. The superior new-comer in the corporation pew was evidently observed and recognized by some members of the congregation, although, fortunately for his own peace of mind, Mr. Craw was blind to the circumstance. A certain nutter of both gold and tartan, a certain heightening of colour on the part of the wearers thereof, with other signs of knowledge, showed that the late arrival was considered a person of importance by the occupants of the opposite pews.

Miss Gunn, proprietress of the local library and news room, and a member of the choir, saw the stranger from her seat near the organ, and felt com placently he was not quite a stranger to her. Mr. Harpson, also, descried him in his mirror and recognized a recent acquaintance. They had met, and compared musical notes, the week before, at the opera in town. Solomon Chipchase, parish clerk, recognized an old crony and brother angler in the other worshipper, the humble individual who had shuffled into one of the free seats. Chipchase divided his time, when not on active duty, between compiling original treatises on church themes from the books in the vestry library, and bottom fishing in the Swirl. He had arranged for a long day's sport on the morrow, and the person in question was to be his com panion.

Played out during the offertory, which was un commonly handsome, by Mr. Harpson, who favoured the congregation with a stirring piece of music which nobody except himself and the stranger in the corporation pew had heard before, and he not in a church, the service came to an end. At any other time the Reverend Thomas Craw would have treated the cordial invitation of Mrs. Honeycomb to his sister and himself to spend an hour at The Hollies, as a command which he was bound in duty to obey, but to-night — no. His spirit rose in rebellion against the whole proceeding, and he hurried off with Miss Craw to their modest lodging. Better, far better, a supper of herbs, &c, on a Sunday night, than, &c. His thoughts partly ran in that direction, and partly towards resigning his charge. His sister would rather have gone to The Hollies.

A woman, as well as a curate's sister, she was curious. It was impossible for her to move about the parish without hearing its tittle-tattle, and some of that had prepared her for a develop ment of the rivalry between tartan and gold, other than a horsey conflict between stable and stable. But she was a good sister and a prudent, was excel lent Harriet Craw, and being entirely dependent on her somewhat austere brother Thomas, she accom panied him without uttering a single word of com plaint. The incumbent, who in church matters rather feared his curate, was not sorry that that uncompro mising disciplinarian had refused his good wife's invitation. He would have been a wet blanket on the company. Mr. Owen's attempt to promote a conversation with the stranger outside the porch, received scant en couragement.

The barber's criticisms were lost upon the evidently absent-minded listener, who replied in monosyllables that were not always to the point. Mr. Owen was about to give it up as a bad job — this was by no means the affable gent. he had taken him to be — when, as he subsequently admitted to the company at " The Beeswing," " the way my gentleman was received by the Bramley party made me shrink into my very boots." " Papa ! Cousin Jack ! there is Lord Eaglescliffe. Mother, Lord Eaglescliffe. We saw you come in. At least, 1 did. I suppose you came by the ex press to Lartington, and drove over ? " Nelly beamed and fluttered with nervous delight. " Yes," his lordship replied. " Although it was Sunday, don't you know, I could not rest until I had seen for myself that Mavis was all right." " And she is ?

" said uncle and nephew in a breath. " As fit as a fiddle, as they say ; although why a fiddle any more than a bassoon or a big drum would be puzzling, if one cared to discuss the question. Oh, yes, Rawcliffe has done his duty." " Well, we took care of that," remarked Mr. Sebright rather stiffly. " To be sure you did," responded his lordship heartily. "I meant the entire board of manage ment, and I ought to have given you first place." " Not at all, not at all, Lord Eaglescliffe," said Sebright, mollified nevertheless. " Now you must spend the evening with us," said Mrs. Bramley, at the dumb but distinct instigation of Nelly. " Mr. Bramley and John and you have so much to talk about. And we will send for Raw cliffe." " Most happy, I am sure. And don't you know, I ought. But I am not sure whether I am at liberty.

Just before — well, before Mavis came on the scene, I — the fact is there was a sort of a promise to my old friend Honeycomb, who was my father's college chum, don't you know, that they should have first call. And if we are rivals now, I mean the Talbots and I, the Honeycombs would not talk racing on a Sunday night, now would they ? Ha, ha ! " " Oh, but they would," said Nelly eagerly, and then subsided, blushing at her boldness. "Ha, ha! They would, eh? Then I will just shake hands, don't you know, and join you." " Make it breakfast with them," suggested John Sebright. Nelly's look of gratitude at this proposed means of escape was a revelation. He left them, and after an animated conversation with the Honeycomb party, from which, watchful Miss Bramley noticed, Miss Talbot held proudly aloof, he returned, saying : " I took the bull by the horns and pleaded business, at which my friend Mr. Honeycomb was most properly shocked, and then — well, then I invited myself to breakfast to-morrow. Now I am at your service."

Chapter II

" THE BEESWING ARMS." It was the custom of Mr. Harpson to drop in at the " Beeswing Arms " after work on practice nights, and occasionally after evening service on Sundays. An enthusiast in music, he was never so happy as when he was in the company of his choir, or in that of the members of the Underhill Philharmonic, of which society he was the head and front. Miss Bainbridge, daughter of the landlord of the " Bees wing," being a pupil and a principal member of the choir, there was manifestly no impropriety in his calling at the house at any time ; but he never theless avoided the main entrance and went round about by the riverside and up to the door of the private bar through the inn yard. In no sense a sporting man he was, however, keen enough in business to take advantage of the race week to secure the patronage ofthe stewards for his annual concert, and to that end captured annually such wandering talent as might be on the spot when the races came round.

He had this year caught two commercial travellers, a tenor vocalist and a clarionet ; and it was to talk matters over with them, as he persuaded himself, he to-night paid a visit to the " Beeswing." He had another reason. Although he knew that Lord Eaglescliffe's visit to Underhill was on account of the mare Mavis, which was engaged to run in the Cup, his lordship was an amateur in music as well as a sportsman, and would no doubt be glad of a gossip about the new opera. Harpson remembered that Lord Eaglescliffe had engaged rooms at the " Beeswing Arms." Mrs. Bainbridge and her daughter Isabel were — an unusual Sunday night condescension on their part — superintending the bar. Jonas Bainbridge occupied the Beeswing chair, a capacious piece of furniture in some way connected with the achieve ments of that famous mare, and a fixture ; and there was scarcely a vacant seat in any other part of the snug parlour.

"We have just heard that his lordship is spend ing the evening at Mr. Bramley's," said Miss Bainbridge to Mr. Harpson as he entered, " and that Mr. Rawcliffe has been sent for." " Ah, to be sure," said Harpson. He was dis appointed. " His lordship's man has been dismissed for the night by his lordship," added Mrs. B., " and so my husband is going to wait up until he returns. If you wish to see his lordship," pursued Mrs. Bain bridge, speaking in a lower, and if possible a more confidential, tone, " you can stay, you know, Mr. Harpson, as a friend of the family, and Mitchell will drive you to Gorton. We shall close at the usual time, but you, Mr. Harpson, and his lordship " " Thank you, Mrs. Bainbridge, it is really of no consequence " — Harpson was getting the least bit sick of " his lordship " — adding, " He may be very late, and no doubt it would bore him to stop out of bed still later to talk to me.

A squeeze of lemon and a shaving of the peel as usual, Priscilla." Saying which Mr. Harpson entered the parlour. Jonas Bainbridge was laying down the law about the weight for age rules and regulations, which he was bold to say the Jockey Club ought to alter accordin' to the date of foaling, and a hoss ought to be on an equality with a human bein', and have a birthday like him. Racin' was a science as well as a hart. Why should a foal that happened to be a bit longer in arriving than another foal have a year clapped on to his age ? Answer him that. And they must not tell him that puttin' together a two year-old and a three-year-old at the back end of the year was hequitable. No. It was wrong. Racin' altogether was wrong and wanted reforming ! " And thou's wrang, as usual, Jonas Bainbridge," said a short red-faced prosperous-looking man of some fifty years of age, and almost as broad as he was long.

He had followed on the heels of Harpson, and had heard most of the landlord's oration. " Gin, my dear, hot. For a matter of tv.enty years I have heard that same story, and if we both be living and keep on meeting here in the same way I suppose I shall hear it for twenty year to come, for I can tell tha, Jonas (a screw of bird's-eye, my dear), as sure as thou hasn't hair on thy poll that's of thy awn growin' enough to mak' a mourning ring, t' Jockey Club is not going to alter the rules of racing to please thee. Gentlemen all." This was Nicholas Stott, Mr. Talbot's trainer. After a whiff of tobacco and a sip of gin and water Mr. Stott said, " Tim Rawcliffe been here ? " " Yes," replied Mr. Bainbridge. " Gone up to Bramley's, I suppose ? ': " He has," answered the landlord. " Just so. Expected to hear that.

Lord Eaglescliffe is supping there, and the lot of them, not forgetting the young lady, who is clever as any one of the blessed lot, are having a confab. Well, we shall stretch her neck for her. If Tim Rawcliffe's York shire, Nick Stott's Bishoprick, which is next door and a bit further north." "Stretch Miss Bramley's neck!" exclaimed Mr. Owen, the barber. She was a customer. " No, Mr. Gauvison, no. I mean — Maavis." He fired these words at the head of Mr. Owen, charged with the broadest dialect-sounds at his command, as though he felt that it was only by such means he could drive his meaning home. Mr. Owen main tained a discreet silence. He was an immigrant and was not quite sure of the exact signification of the word gauvison. Remarking that the room was as hot as a Sunday bakkus, Mr. Stott proceeded to make the temperature more to his liking by throwing open a window im mediately behind the seat occupied by Harpson's tenor.

" Here, I say ! " exclaimed that horrified vocalist, starting up and whipping a handkerchief round his neck, " do you know what you are doing ? " " Yes. Making the place fit to live in. Letting out some of this poison. Phew ! " " Then sit there yourself," ejaculated the tenor. " I should be as ropy as a crow with the bronchitis if I had that draught at the back of my neck for half a minute," saying which he accepted the dumb invitation of Mr. Harpson, and with his coat collar well up, took the proffered place by the organist's side. " Oh, ah, to be sure," said Mr. Stott. " You're a bit of a singer. Well, I apologize. Good evenin'," to the clarionet, in whom he recognized a person he had met at the " Beeswing " before. "Good evenin'. Making your usual journey, eh, Mr. Northcott ? At the usual time.

When nobody does a ha'porth of business on account of the races. Well, you have a bit on ours. Our Steng-e-leather 1 mean our bonny little Dragon Fly. We shall win the Cup hard enough." " They tell me to stand the mare," remarked Mr. Northcott. " Oh, they do. Well, you please yourself. Only don't say after we have passed the scale all right that you did not have the straight tip from him that's speaking now, who ought to know if anybody does. I tell you, we shall win hard enough." Which observation was Mr. Stott's last for some time. He smoked on in moody silence, and the con versation of the rest of the company proceeded, Mr. Bainbridge alone refraining from taking part in the talk. Mr. Stott had for the moment abolished him. He knew he was no match for Mr. Stott in a discussion on the laws of racing, and so he " waited, waited on with much endurance " for the chance of giving the crusty old trainer one back.

Mr. Owen discussed church music with the clarionet. The tenor, who would not have been more muffled up for a carol singing expedition on a seasonable Christmas Eve, discussed with the organist his own splendid upper register, and the jealousy of the profession that had prevented him from turning the same to ac count on the lyric stage. Most of the others talked horse and the prospects of the forthcoming meeting. " Rawcliffe say he was coming back ? " asked Stott, levelling his question at the landlord. " No," replied Mr. Bainbridge. " Happen he may ? " queried the trainer. "And happen he mayn't," rejoined mine host. " Gin, my dear. Sixpennorth. And some more hot water out of the kettle. Rawcliffe stopping here ? " " No." " Um. Sleeping along o' the mare, I suppose. They are precious careful."

Then he added mutter ingly, " They need not fash. We shall beat them hard enough." Mr. Stott stuck to his gin and water, and possibly because the present compound was stiffer than the former dose, he consumed it more rapidly. He no longer sipped the beverage. It disappeared in gulps. " Did you read that article in last Saturday's Bell ? " observed the clarionet, addressing the landlord. "Yes, Mr. Northcott, I did," replied Mr. Bain bridge, with a glance at Stott. " And what did you make of it ? " " A pack of lies. Them writers must fill their papers with something, and so " " No," interposed Mr. Stott, " it was not a pack of lies. Say about half and half. Truth, you see, Jonas Bainbridge, is a thing that circulates in small parcels, which naturally makes a poor kind of a show. It's a twice two are four matter.

But when them newspaper gentlemen get hold of twice two they make it come to — why, just as much as the public will stand, and sometimes a bit over. The news paper gentlemen take truth just the same as you take spirits from the merchant, to mix a bit, you know, Jonas, and make look pretty to the eye, eh, Jonas, and ticklesome to the palate, Jonas Bain bridge, and, you know, my old Beeswing, to make it travel further." " My spirits, Mr. Stott " " Are the best in England. I own it. Gin, my dear. Sixpennorth. And more hot water." " But, concerning that article in Bell ? " persisted Mr. Northcott. " Well, what about it ? This, sir," exclaimed Stott with emphasis, after a pause between the question, " there was enough truth in the fool's haze gaze to make some of us wish we had him by the neck and heels when he had written it, and a horse pond handy."

" What, because it was true ? " queried the landlord, plucking up courage to re-enter the lists. 2-2 " Some of it, Jonas, some of it." " The freedom of the press must be preserved at all hazards," remarked Mr. Owen sententiously. " Oh, it must, must it ? " " Yes, sir," observed the tenor, who had not for given Mr. Stott for opening the window. "Very well, then, freedom for freedom. If a scribbler makes free with my reputation I think I have a right to make free to trounce his jacket for him, eh ? How's that ? " " That, sir, would be a breach of the peace," said Mr. Owen. " Breach ! I'd breach but, look you here ! " exclaimed Mr. Stott fairly roused. " Look — you — here ! " thumping the table with the repetition of every word, and ringing a peal with the dancing glasses that brought Mrs. Bainbridge, her daughter Isabel, and the barmaid to the door to listen.

" They may write about me and my hosses till they sweat at it, if such spoiled clerks and broken-down school masters ever do sweat at their miserable calling. I don't train to please them, but to please my master, and as long as he is satisfied I am. Do you hear that, now ? You'd fleer at me if you dared " " I ? " " we ? " " me ? " " us ? " exclaimed the auditors, each in his own independent way,ias though the personal pronoun were personal property and not a thing to be reduced to a fixed grammatical pattern. " Yes, you, all of you, barber and all. If you dared. But, there's not one of you has the pluck of a half-drownded hen, and your quackin' would dis grace a sick duck. But neither him that wrote that " THE BEESWING ARMS." 21 article in Bell, nor his readers, nor any man in the wide world can say black's the white of Nicholas Stott's eye."

To the hubbub of voices which occurred at this moment Mr. Stott refused to listen. There was not a streak of fair play in him at that moment. In dividually and collectively the defence might be perfect, but — away with it ! Blind as well as deaf, he did not observe a tall stolid man, with a profile that suggested a rough likeness to the head of that noble animal the horse, slip quietly in and subside into a seat near the door. " Lord Eaglescliffe trained with us — what then ? Him and Mr. Talbot were friends ; I suppose they are friends yet, for that matter, but they can never be the same as they were. Something displeased him, and so he took his horses away to Mr. John Sebright's and " " But what displeased him ? " " That's it. That is what some of us would like to know. They did not say, the sneaks ! that I had tried Mavis and Dragon Fly together, and kept the form up my sleeve, but they hinted at it.