LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7009, 13 November 1890, Page 1

LITERATURE.

SOME SHARP PRACTICE.

A SPORTING TALE.

{Licensed Victuallers' Gazette )

Captain Fiyboy and the Hon James Havem were two o£ the many well-born men who get their living on the Turf. Both of them had be3n in the army, and both of them had reared, preferring the chances of the great g line to the probability of promotion in Her Majest'a service. Like a great many more commencing life in the racing world, fickle jade Dame Fortune had at first been kind to them. To begin with, their stable was small in number and poor in class. Still, the Hon James Havem was a good judge. He placed his horses properly, never aspiring at too high game, and was a rare good judge of a race itself. For a time they had been very lucky. They gathered together a few better-class horses. A wealthy lord joined the stable, and they had permission to train their horses in his private park in the shires, where there was some excellent galloping ground, consisting of that old mossy turf that iB always soft going, even in the hottest summer. They had won one or two good handicaps, and everything promised well, but suddenly things took a change. Influenza attacked the stable, leaving several of their horses bad roarers. A horse that had been "readied" for one of the autumn handicaps, who they considered would be allotted 6st 71b by Major Egerton, and who could not well lose with another stone on his back, had just broken down. A promising two-year-old that they had tried good enough to win a big nursery later on, had smashed his leg and been destroyed, whilst to crown all the noble Lord before mentioned had intimated his intention to withdraw from racing, and had already as good as told them that they would have to Beck other training quarters. Thus matters were as bad as bad could be. It was now the Monday after Ascot, and the Captain and the Honorable were dining in solitary state at their Club. Both had had a very bad time of it at the Eoyal Meeting. Then they had been gambling to get some of their losses back, but things were worse than ever. Their account had been all right at the Club that day, but they could not speak about next week, as both felt that they had ran to the length of their tether and really knew not what to do. The wine had been passing freely, and both were tolerably quiet for all that. At last Captain Flyboy burst out with, "Well, Jim, something must be done, what is it ?"

"Ask me another," replied the Hon James. "It is all very well to Bay something. I know that as well as you, but what are we to do?"

" I'll tell you what. "We mußt get a rich man to join our stable. We want new blood— and money," be added, in an undertone. " The only person I can think of is young Thorns. He's apparently as rich as Crceaus, and he's betting heavily and winning." The Eon Jamea Havem burst out laughing 1 . The idea was not a new one. Both lad discussed it before, but how to get hold of him they did not know. Both had a casual nodding acquaintance with Mr Cuthbert Thorns, as he called himself, as men who meet day after day in the Bing ; but he did not belong to their set, and he was not a member of the Turf €lub. Young Thomß, already known as the "Young Plunger," had only been about town something like six months. Already he was well known amongst the fast set to whom he belonged. He said le was just of age, and had apparently any amount of money. Where he -came from or who he was, nobody knew. There were many tales current in the West End about him. Some people said he had been at Rugby or Jitarlboroagh ; others, that he had just come from Australia or New Zealand. One man assured his friend that bis father had "been a soapboiler down Whitechapel way, another that his money had been made in sugar or iron. He waß good-looking, smart, and entertaining. Perhaps hiß xuoßt distinguishing characteristic was that ho apparently did not know the value of money. He betted hundreds a3 if they were ordinary sovereigns, thousands as if they were "fivers." He squandered money right and left, giving diamond Tings and pins to his friends, necklets and tiaraa to actresses and ladies of the ballet. He flirted with the elephants' tooth and took the bank at baccarat. No sum was too big for him to play for ; and yet with all the temptations, all the conspiracies that were got up against him, he apparently held his own. On Monday he rarely had a losing account, and the bookmakers, who once were only too eager to bet with him, and offered him short prices, now were nothing like so anxious to do business, and many dropped him altogether, voting him a dead sharp. Both Captain Flyboy and the Hon James Havem had tried to enter into negotiations with him before, but he would nave none of them.

However, when things are perhaps as -far apart as can well be, they suddenly come together. The clock was striking ten as the Captain and the Honorable left the club and strolled along Piccadilly. It was a warm summer's evening, and the heat of the room was oppressive. They had.wandered along, smoking cigars, thinking little, perhaps caring less, which way their Bteps carried them. They had passed the Pavilion, Scott's, and had reached the top of Leicester square, nearing the Empire. Suddenly a hansom cab drew up at the entrance to the latter place of amusement, and who should get out but young Thorns, by himself. Greatly to the surprise of Captain Plyboy he # spoke to them, greeting them rather warmly. "Where are you going to? Come into the Empire, I have a box. I want to talk to you," were his words. The friends assented, and, turning in with Thorns to his box, they watched the performance for some time.

At last Thoma asked Captain Flyboy ■what he thought of a certain horse, mentioning the name of a prominent favourita 'for the Northumberland Plate. "I have backed him to win me an awful lot of money, and I'want to buy him. Curiously enough, the more money I back him for the worse he seems to go in the market. Do you think you could buy him for me ?" he asked of the Hon James Havem. The horse, Dactyl by name, belonged to rather a shrewd racing division— a party who were connected with a set cf bookmakers, at the head o£ whom was one William Stevens, a cute, hard-headed Northcountryman. It was quite true that something seemed to be wrong with Dactyl for "the race in question. There were rumours -o? wrong entry, informal registration, the lightful owner in the forfeit list, and there was a great desire to lay against him. Yet nobody knew what was really the matter. At Ascot William Stevens himself had been particularly active in laying against the horse. Money kept coming in for him, but this ■active metallician would always lay good odds. Whatever happened that evening at the Empire, the Turf world were soon Btartled by the news that came to hand •within the next few days. They learned that Mr Thorns had joined the racing stable belonging to tho Flyboy and Havem confederacy. Not only this, but that Mir Thorns had purchased Dactyl, tho favourite for the Northumberland Plate. Wiseacres shook their heads, saying no good ever came to a horse sold on the eve of a race. The Northumberland Plate was

fixed to take place on a Wednesday, a week intervening between 'A3cot and the

Newcastle Meeting. On the Sunday previous, William Stevens was met by a dapper little man in the Clapham road. He was quick in style, rather brusque in manner, and spoke sharply and to the noint. "You are Mr Stevens, the wellknown bookmaker," to which Stevens nodded a familiar aesent.

"You," continued the stranger, " have laid heavily against Dactyl for the Northumberland Plate.

" I have," answered Stevens ; " but what is your motive for asking me this question ?" "I will tell you directly. Now his owner, Mr Thoma, has Incited him heavily, he stands to win between twenty-five and thirty thousand pounds." " Yes," answered Stevens ; " but I have not laid all that sum against him myself. I have cut some of it up with other fielders."

"Well," said the little man, handing Stevens a card with the name of Underhill on it, " supposing the horse does not win ; supposing Mr Thorns doe 3 not settle ?" " What rot !" put in Stevens. " He's as rich as Croesus. He's also had a good time lately, and his luck is in." "My dear sir, don't be in a hurry," replied Mr Underhill ; " you don't know everything. Mr Thoma is a swindler, and lam a big merchant at New Orleans, and Johnsou, known to you as Thorns, is an embezzling clerk of mine. Ho bolted last December with many thousands of mine, and I have only just found him. by the aid of detectives. I recognised him &t Ascot; he does not suspect that I am in England, and he knows nothing about us being on his track."

Stevens was quite taken back by this statement, and he scarcely knew what to do. He was fairly puzzled. If Dactyl ran and won he would have to pay the other people who had backed it with him, even if he did not get anything from Johnson, alias Thorns. On the other hand, if it ran and lost he would probably not get anything from Thorns at all. Stevens then took Mr Underhill into his confidence, and a move wa3 made to the bookmaker's house hard by. The latter was certain about the identity of Thorns, and he advised Stevens to stick to his bets, and lay heavier than ever against the horse, getting as much money out of him as he possibly could. Then, at the last moment, when they had got to Newcastle, he was to go to Thorns, accompanied by Underhill, and under threat of exposure and prosecution, insist on him scratching the horse, and also see if any money could not be got out of him to repay Mr Underhill what he said was due to him. This was agreed between them, and it was arranged that they should meet at eleven o'clock on the morning of the race at Stevens' hotel at Newcastle, and then go and see Thoma or Johnson, or whatever his name was.

On the Monday at the London Cluba more opposition than ever burst out against 'Dactyl. He retired to 10 to 1, but still those odds were accepted. Bookmakers, following the example of Stevenß, thinking he knew something, never ceased laying, whilst Captain Plyboy, the Honorable James. Havem, and Mr Thorns never Beemed to be tired of backing the horse. This went on when the racing army reached Newcastle, and also again on the course during the first afternoon's racing. On the Wednesday morning, at eleven o'clock, Stevens was waiting for Mr Underhill at his hotel. The latter was late. He did not arrive at 11.15 nor at 11.30. Twelve o'clock came, no Mr Underhill, and Stevenß resolved he would go and see Dactyl's owner by himself. The bookmaker had found out what hotel Mr Thorns was stopping: at, and he thought that he would interview him by himself. He called a cab, reached the hotel, sent up his card, and wag shown into Mr Thorns' s private room. Mr Thorns was alone. " You young rogue," began Stevens. " I know all about you now. You embezzled money from New Orleans, and your name is not Thoins at all. You must scratch Dactyl, at once too, or——" " What do you say ?" coolly returned Thorns rising, " Eogue — embezzling money —my name not Thorns— scratch Dactyl! What do you mean, sir? I'll have a witness to hear what you say," and he rang the bell. The waiter arrived. "Juat go to my uncle's room," said Thorns. " Tell him lam ready to start, and want him at once." " His uncle," thought Stevens. " What game is this." Just then the door opened. A tall familiar figure entered the room. It was that of Sir James Thorns, a well-known racing man in years gone by, who had only returned from India a day or two before, and who was an old client of Stevens. The bookmaker was aghast. He saw at once he had been duped. There was no doubting Sir James Thorns' relationship with the " Young Plunger." Mr Underbill had been the tool of those clover wirepullers, Captain Flyboy and the Hon James Havem, and nothing was he*»rd of him afterwards. He never apologised to Stevens for not keeping that appointment. Dactyl won the Northumberland Plate, and all parties concerned won enormous stakes. The Captain and the Honorable are now alluded to by the racing reporters ac noble sportsmen and clever racing diplomatists, and Mr Thorns bets only in " tens " with an occasional " pony." Last Monday we saw William Stevens hanging round the bottom of Wellington street, borrowing half-a-crown from an old pal.