5. Gauge your payce, save your horse for raycing at finish.
6. Remember it's the last half-mile as counts, Barnabas.
7. So keep your spurs till they 're needed, my lad.
A rayce, Barnabas lad, is very like a fight, after all. Given a good horse it's the man with judgment and cool head as generally wins. So, Barnabas, keep your temper. This is all I have to say, or your father, only that no matter how near you come to turning yourself into a fine gentleman, we have faith as it won't spoil you, and that you may come a-walking into the old 'Hound' one of these days just the same dear Barnabas as we shall always love and remember.
Signed:
NATL. BELL. GON BARTY.
Now, as he conned over these words of Natty Bell, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, glancing round, he beheld the Viscount in all the bravery of scarlet hunting frock, of snowy buckskins and spurred boots, a little paler than usual, perhaps, but as gallant a figure as need be.
"What, Bev!" he exclaimed, "not dressed yet?"
"Why I've only just woke up, Dick!"
"Woke up! D' you mean to say you've actually—been asleep?" demanded the Viscount reproachfully. "Gad! what a devilish cold-blooded fish you are, Bev! Haven't closed a peeper all night, myself. Couldn't, y' know, what with one deuced thing or another. So I got up, hours ago, went and looked at the horses. Found your man Martin on guard with a loaded pistol in each pocket, y' know,—deuced trustworthy fellow. The horses couldn't look better, Bev. Egad! I believe they know to-day is—the day! There's your 'Terror' pawing and fidgeting, and 'Moonraker' stamping and quivering—"
"But how is your arm, Dick?"
"Arm?" said the Viscount innocently. "Oh,—ah, to be sure,—thanks, couldn't be better, considering."
"Are you—quite sure?" persisted Barnabas, aware of the Viscount's haggard cheek and feverish eye.
"Quite, Bev, quite,—behold! feel!" and doubling his fist, he smote Barnabas a playful blow in the ribs. "Oh, my dear fellow, it's going to be a grand race though,—ding-dong to the finish! And it's dry, thank heaven, for 'Moonraker''s no mud-horse. But I shall be glad when we line up for the start, Bev."
"In about—four hours, Dick."
"Yes! Devilish long time till eleven o'clock!" sighed the Viscount, seating himself upon the bed and swinging his spurred heels petulantly to and fro. "And I hate to be kept waiting, Bev—egad, I do!"
"Viscount, do you love the Lady Cleone?"
"Eh? Who? Love? Now deuce take it, Beverley, how sudden you are!"
"Do you love her, Dick?"
"Love her—of course, yes—aren't we rivals? Love her, certainly, oh yes—ask my Roman parent!" And the Viscount frowned blackly, and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Why then," said Barnabas, "since you—honor me with your friendship, I feel constrained to tell you that she has given me to—to understand she will—marry me—some day."
"Eh? Oh! Marry you? The devil! Oh, has she though!" and hereupon the Viscount stared, whistled, and, in that moment, Barnabas saw that his frown had vanished.
"Will you—congratulate me, Dick?"
"My dear fellow," cried the Viscount, springing up, "with all my heart!"
"Dick," said Barnabas, as their hands met, "would you give me your hand as readily had it been—Clemency?"
Now here the Viscount's usually direct gaze wavered and fell, while his pallid cheek flushed a dull red. He did not answer at once, but his sudden frown was eloquent.
"Egad, Bev, I—since you ask me—I don't think I should."
"Why?"
"Oh well, I suppose—you see—oh, I'll be shot if I know!"
"You—don't love her, do you, Dick?"
"Clemency? Of course not—that is—suppose I do—what then?"
"Why then she'd make a very handsome Viscountess, Dick."
"Beverley," said the Viscount, staring wide-eyed, "are you mad?"
"No," Barnabas retorted, "but I take you to be an honorable man, my
Lord."
The Viscount sprang to his feet, clenched his fists, then took two or three turns across the room.
"Sir," said he, in his iciest tones, "you presume too much on my friendship."
"My Lord," said Barnabas, "with your good leave I'll ring for my servant." Which he did, forthwith.
"Sir," said the Viscount, pale and stern, and with folded arms, "your remark was, I consider, a direct reflection upon my honor."
"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his breeches, "your honor is surely your friend's, also?"
