Bred In The Bone | Page 8

was the same question that many were asking as the horse walked with a long, easy swing, as quiet, yet as much at home, as if he were in his own stable-yard.
"Hello! that must be the new entry--'J. D.,'" said Colonel Snowden, pushing forward to get a good look at him.
"Whose horse is this, Robin?" enquired Colonel Ashland.
The old fellow touched his hat.
"Dis is Mr. Johnstone hoss, suh." He spoke with pride.
"Not a very distinguished name," laughed one of the others, Mr. Newby, a youngish man dressed in the latest race-course style. He wore bits and stirrups as pins and fobs, owned a few horses, and "talked horse" continually.
Old Robin sniffed disdainfully.
"Oh, it may be," said the young girl, turning her eyes on him with a little flash. She saw that the old darkey had caught the words.
"What Mr. Johnston is it, uncle?" she asked, kindly, with a step forward.
"Mr. Theod'ric Johnston, madam." He spoke with pride.
"What! Colonel Theodoric Johnston? Is he living still?" asked Colonel Ashland. "I thought he--How is he?"
"Oh, nor, suh! He 's dead. He died about three years ago. Dis gent'man is the gran'son--one o' my young masters. I was the fust pusson ever put him on a hoss."
"Can he ride?"
"Kin he ride! You wait an' see him," laughed the old man. "He ought to be able to ride! Ken a bud fly? Heah he now."
He turned as the young owner, brown and tanned, and hardly more than a boy, came up through the crowd. He, like his horse, had been carefully groomed, and through his sun tan he bore a look of distinction. He was dressed for the race, but wore a coat over his faded silk jacket. As he turned and found Robin talking to a lady, his cap came off instinctively. The men looked at him scrutinizingly.
"Are you Colonel Theodoric Johnston's grandson?" enquired Colonel Snowden. "He used to have some fine horses."
"Yes, sir." His eye stole to the horse that was just beside him, and the color mounted to his cheek.
"And he was a fine man. The turf lost one of its best ornaments when he retired." Colonel Ashland was the speaker.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." His cap was in his hand, his words and manner were respectful, but when he spoke he looked the other in the eyes, and his eyes, though shy, were clear and calm.
"We were just admiring your horse," said the young lady, graciously.
He turned and looked at her with the color flashing up in his tanned cheeks.
"Thank you. I am glad if he meets with your approval." He ended his formal little speech with a quaint, slow bow. "I wish he were worthier of it."
"Oh, I am sure he is," she said, politely. "At least, you have our good wishes." Her eye fell on one of her companions. "Has n't he, Mr. Newby?"
The latter only looked at the younger man and grunted.
"Well, at least you have mine," she said, with an air of bravado.
"Thank you. I 'll try to deserve them."
"Dat young lady knows a hoss," asserted old Robin, triumphantly. "Jes look at him, dyah. What bone an' muscle!" He raised the sheet and waved his dusky hand towards his charge.
"Yes, that 's what I say. Such bone and muscle!" she repeated, with pretended gravity.
"Especially the bone!" observed Mr. Newby, in a low tone.
"I shall back him," she said. She held in her hand a rose which had broken off its stem. She took it and stuck it in a loop in the sheet.
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. Why, look at his hocks! He won't get over the Liverpool."
"I shall back him," said she. "What is the Liverpool?"
"Here, I 'll tell you what I 'll do," said Mr. Newby. "I 'll bet you two to one he does n't win the race." He winked at the others.
"Very well. I don't approve of betting, but I 'll do it this time just to punish you."
"Now I 'll bet you two to one he does n't come in second--that boy won't get him over the water-jump."
"Very well--no, I don't want to take odds. I 'll bet you even. I must be a sport."
The other protested,