TALES OF - - - COLONIAL SPORT.

Otago Witness, Issue 2686, 6 September 1905, Page 87

TALES OF - - - - COLONIAL SPORT.

By F. DA. C. De L'lsle,

Author of "Tales of Sahib La,nd," "Ta!e3 of the 23th 8.L.," "Tales of a Turf Detective," "Tales of Sport," etc. No. ILL— THE KING PIN. They were all seated round the breakfast table at the Romata Club, in ."he Rsngitikei district of the North Island of New Zealand, discussing the approaching New Zealand Grand National Steeplechase. All the -well-known faces were three — Madame Rachael (the man who pencilled his eyebrows), old Burgoyne, the Universal Die, Rodney, Deburgh, the man with the jeilcs, Stanley, the New Member, Medicis, and others. It had been a field day the day before, and they had assembled from far and near to witness the Romata Amateur Turf Club's annual picnic race meeting. After the storm should have come a But it «*as not so. Everybody was speaking at the same time. Madame Rachael, his pencilled eyebrows raised, was discussing Hadyn (the steeplechaser, not the amorous composer). "The man with jerks jerked his shoulders more violently than usual (Mem. : Overdose of alcohol the previous night), and talked of odds. He suffered savagely from St. Vitus's dance, like -the- eoalheaver's cat. Under the in-fluence-of "Scotch" the jumps would grow more ' and- more pronounced, until, after about the tenth "peg;," he would spring • a clean' 2ft into the air, and his shoulders wbtold'jerb'up and down 'with' the precision |of a piston rod. He was« constant sourceof alarm to his fellow clubmen, for the .odds were always a shade in favour of his complete dissolution after about the tenth go of "Scotch hot," and the prospects of his abrupt departure into "die Ewigkeit"' was a matter of constant speculation amongst the members of the Romata Club. He-spoke in a loud, raucous voice, and was heard plainly above the hum of converea- | tion round the breakfast table. The Universal Die was explaining who Gobo was, and -also as to where the Canongate was to be found. Old Burgoyne, his pine nez "balanced on his colossal nose, glnwd at a pint of beer in* a colossal pewter, and opined that Stfaybird oould not be a "dead bird." Stanley was urging upon Medicis the propriety of having a fiver on Cavaliero for the big event ; an epergne of faded bulbs intervened between them, and they^ were dodging their heads from side to side in order to enable them to yell at each (.other with greater success. * A general hubbub reitjnecl over the whole •b/eakfast- table, and the babel of tongues was pretty general, when there came a rapping of knife handles on the table, side plates, dishes, etc., and the New Member's voice was heard crying: j "A dream, gentlemen, a dream! Stance for Mr Rodney's dream!" "Hullo ! Have you been dreaming. Rodney?" shouted Burgoyne. "I say, I ence j dreamt- the winner of a race !"

"So -did I !" muttered Madame Rachael ; "of that there is no possible doubt whatevan!" .He always chanted Gilbert and Sullivan wien in a condition of elation, and on the morning in question Madame Rachael had poured down more than on© libation in honour of - the 'gods. "I had a wonderful dream once !" grunted the man with the jerks, twisting his features into a representation of Mephistopheles leering at Faust. "It didn't come true, but it nearly did."

"Order! Order!" yelled this New Member. "Mr Rodney's dream, gentlemen. Now, Mr Rodney, let us have it." Mr Rodney was trifling with a biliouslooking kidney liberally seasoned with red pepper. He looked up from his plate. "It's a funny dream," he grinned sardonically (the red pepper was biting his tangle). "I dreamt I saw a field officer in khaki winning the Grand National easily. But the funny thing about it was that he wore a -coronet on his; head, and carried* a bottle of 'Bulldog' brand in his right hand, with which he lammed the winner for all h.& was worth. What the devil it means I'm hanged if I know, but I'm eoing to look out for signs whai I get down to Christchurch !" "You ass ; anybody can see rE with I.alf ail eye," said Madame Kachael, as Le raised his pencilled eyebrows and snvled complacently. "The bottle of 'Bulldog' means Porter. The coronet lefers to Strathrjairn. The khaki uniform means our _ late gallant commander in South Africa, who has just recently succeeded to the dormant title. You got a 'cake walk' dresm. Mind you back Sfcrftthnairn !" "A Joseph! A Joseph!" cried old Burgoyne. "We have a Hebrew reveuler of secrete come amongst us 1" "Oh! that was easily interpreted."' ?nid Madame Rachael, pleased at the flattery. "Bufc my dream was harder to find, although I spotted it after some difficulty. I dreamt in the Old Country, years ago, that I was going to win the Derby on our butcher's horse ! It was called Sausage ! I hunted through, the name of the probable

starters, and after deep cogitation- I decided to back the Hungarian horse Kisbor. He was practically a German horse, and German Sausage — well, you know, there was a, mystery about the connecting link. So I backed him, and he won! I was two pounds in." "Of German sausage?" queried old Burgoyne, and the band played £>6 a fugue, "There'll be a hot time in the old town."

When quiet was restored, the man with jerks came to light. He plaj-ed a strr part every time. He opened his act by upsetting a bottle of anchovy sauce into Deburgh's Madras curry ; he then loosened the bolts of the bentwood chair be occupied with three or four galvanic jumps, and, setting his astigmatic "gig-lamps" en his purple proboscis, he yammered out : "My dream was not at all funny. Not at all. I had partaken freely — of-^ — ■" "Scotch?" murmured old Burgoyne, absently. "No, sir, not Scotch ! I was going to — (jerk, jerk) — say lobsters — (jerk). However, if you — (jerk) — are going to interrupt me — (jerk, jerk, jerk) — you can imagine my dream — see !" A succession ol nerveracking contortions followed, and a cup of hot coffee was upset into Burgoyne's coat pocket. "Not at all ! Not al all ! Go on, old fellow!" shouted the other members-, bo the man with the jerks proceeded. (N.B. — Morse telegraphic code in future where he punctuated' his narrative with jerks.) "Well - - a*J said before - I dreamt I mean to say - I had partaken - - freely of lobsters - hence my . . dream. - - - . I dreamt I was riding . - a jellyfish - - in the Melbourne Cup -- . once. The starter - . . - fired a gun - - to start the race, and shot my - - . jellyfish ! Of course .... - Carbine won, and - - like a fool . . - I did not back him!" The telegraphic punctuations were a torture, and it seemed like waiting for seismic disturbances while waiting for the man with the jerks to proceed. "What a pity!" murmured old Burgoyne when the story was over. "I would give a small fortune to see you riding a finish on a jellyfish in the Melbourne Cup." Then Tophet reigned, Madame Rachael yelling at the top of his voice : All the nobs were on the scratch. Father Doy^le ana Peter Fogarty Weiit to see 'he walking match Betwixt O'Rsilly and O'Eafferty. Devil a wan had seen such fun In th-e whole of Erin's isle When Patrick Cassidy fired the gun And O'Rafferty won the mile! After the storm had subsided somewhat they fell to relating their dreams again. Burgoyne had squeezed the hot coffee out of his coat pocket, and, actuated by a paltry spirit of revenge, had allowed it to trickle down the neck of the man with the jerks. , It was a mean' thing to do. but it passed unnoticed, as everyone was bu&y listening to the narrative of a dream of the Universal Die. "It's up to me to take the bun over dreaming winners !" he said. "At anyrate, my dream deserves the credit of being original. I once dreamed, just before the Epsom Derby of '80, that I was the devil himself ! An enterprising G.R. jumped on my back, rammed the spurs into my ribs, lambasted me with a barb wire whip, raced me round Tottenham corner with one ] leg over the rails, twisted my tail downtlie straight, and won by a head from a big bay horse that would not be shaken off. As my name- is Robert, I backed Robert the Devil, and when he was just beaten j a head by Bend dOr, I really did feel as if I was the devil himself !" Then the New Member spoke. "I think I can take the kettle. Almost every sporting man has dreamed a winner at some time or other, but I think my dream was as disastrous a dream as any man ever had." "Go ahead ! Fire away ? Tell us all about it !" cried several members. The man with the jerk's sprang spasmodically into the air, and old Burgoyne immediately placed a soup plate full of porridge in his chair. "I beg to - - propose - - that the New . . .• - Member - - relate to us - - his dream!" gasped (.he man with the jerks. "I beg to second that !" yelled Rodney. ! "I third it!" cried Deburg. "Carried !" triumphantly shouted the man with the jerks as he sat down quickly — on the plate of cold porridge ! And once again -there was trouble in Styxville. After all hands and the cook had had a turn with their pocket-knives at scraping the porridge off the man with the jerks, and when peace was finally restored, the New Member continued : "Once, in Auckland, years ago, I was reduced to my last fiver. It was in my callow time, when I was gr-een in judgment. _ My soul had but one desire, "a big dividend ; my heart but one care, an empty pocket; my mind but one tboiight, a, winning outsider. The Auckland Racing Club were holding their summer meeting" For days before the races I was puzzling over the acceptances, the performances, and the chances of the various horses. So deeply did I become engrossed in my study of how to spot the winner that I do verily believe my brain must have become unhinged by it. My pineal eve grew weary, and instead of rejecting the images my wish and fancy conjured up, it retained all my thoughts of the Cup race, and my life became an eternal routine of Cup, Cup*. Cup ! On the night before the race I lost mv head completely. Two or three jovial friends, a few bottles of gold top. a suppei at Lady Flo's, and we dimmed the lamps of night in revel. How I reached my lodgings I do not know, but I do remember the most vivid dream of my life. I found myself on the course watching the horses do their preliminary canters before the Cup Race. Out noblelooking chestnut horse, carrying a jockey wearing a jacket of red and yellow hoops, with white sleeves and red cap, took my fancy immensely. I watched for his number on the saddle-cloth. It was seven. the main !' said Ito myself, and i I backed him heavily in my dream. Then I went on to tie stand to watch the race. I saw it SLUite plainly,. For three .parts of

the journey the field kept well together, but at the distance post the red and yellow hoops, white sleeves, and red cap dashed to the front, and No. 7, making cats' meat of his rivals, won, pulling up, by six lengths. I yelled and shouted in my dream, and then plunged headlong down the stand steps, to find myself lying on the floor of my bedroom, with a bump as large as a hen's egg on my aching head. But my dream was all paramount in my head, and I didn't care a hang for the bump on it. All the way to the races I kept thinking of my dream, and as soon as I got a correct card I looked for No. 7 in the Cup race. There he was : No. 7, Messrs Hookley Bros.' c h The King Pin, syrs, 7.7., black jacket, green sleeves. I nearly fainted. I had made so certain that I had dreamed a winner that the shock was almost more than I could bear, la the whole race there was no horse carrying red and yellow hoops, white sleeves, and red cap. It was heart breaking. For a long time I puzzled as to what to do. Should I back No. 7? Or should I back a horse that carried a yellow jacket, with white sleeves and a red cap? At length I .determined to toss for it. Heads I would back No. 7, tails tbe combination of colours. Tfce coin turned tails, and I put my last "fiver" on the yellow jacket, and also £2 more I borrowed from a publican I knew. I then went up into the grand stand to watch the fulfilment of my destiny. The race was run at a solid pace, just as in my dream, and I glued my eyes on the black -horse carrying the yellow jacket. To my horror he fell back after the first half mile, and at seven furlongs he was 'absolutely.' And there he remained. When tbs horses entered the straight the horse I had backed was a hundred yards behind, last. I heard a triumphant voice at my side yell 'Battleaxe !' Then another voice 'Blue Jacket !' And then a wild yell of 'The King Pin ! Pin! Pin! Pin! Pin!' 'Pin' surged in my ears as a horse carrying red and yellow hoops, white sleeves, and red cap flashed past the post six lengths ahead of the other horses ! I walked down to the lawn in a very dejected mood. Actually I was a pauper — penniless and friendless. I watched the numbers go up. The winner was No. 7 right enough. The King Pin had won the race, and my dream of the previous night had proved true in every particular. Chestnut horse, No. 7, red and yellow hoops, white sleeves, red cap, six lengths 1 win — all correct!''

"But I thought you said No. 7's colours were black jacket, green sleeves, in the book?" said Burgoyne, with a wink to the ethers. , "Quite right," answered tlie New Member. "I found the explanation in the papers next morning when I read the reports of the race. A footnote stated that the owners of the winner had been fined £5 for running in the wrong 2olours." 'The best dream of the day !" cried Deburgh. "Hurrah for The Kino- Pin!" "Hurrah for The King Pin V yelled the others. And as the man with the jerks jabbed ins scan pm savagely into a certain portion of Burgoyne's anatomy they both yell simultaneously "Hurrah— ah .'—for lhe King Pm!"