FUSEE REDIVIVUS

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 13, 1 April 1905, Page 6

FUSEE REDIVIVUS

A Tale of Nimble Wits and Heavy Hearts

B Y

W.A. FRASER

IT was a leaden rupee—two of them that drew Jack Hiehins. proprietor of the Adelphi Hotel in Rangoon. Mr Billy Mitchell, bookmake*!*. and Captain “Jim’’ Fenwick together in the matter of tin Pagoda Hurdles. Coincident with keeping hotel. Hichins kept even thing else he could lay his hands on. He was seven kinds of a •’close ’un.” giving away nothing but a professional smile to his customers. ‘•They don’t git the start of ol' dark Tehins.” was iiis anthem of self-piais* He was right: they, the public, didn’t. Captain Jim had been in the Lan cers. A captious friend had describ ed Captain dim as a man with a chain pagne appetite and a beer income. A’ any rate, the Marquis of Hastings, in the old Hermit days, never went tin* pace any faster than did Captain dim while the money lasted. Now he was down and out. papers sent in. and all the rest of it. Like Mr Micawber, he was waiting for something to turn up: and still omre. like Miciwbei had a two months’ reckoning chalked up on the Adelphi slate. Mitchell was a New Yorker, and a bookmaker, which, in a matter such as follows, means more than enough. He had heard the hotelkeeper’s warcry of ‘•They don’t 'ave ol’ Jack” until he became possessed of a desire to test the mattei. So he acquired three leaden rupees down in the bazaar, and. with Captain Jim. lined up against the little bar of the Adelphi, behind which was generally to be found Mr Hiehins. When Mitchell passed up a leaden rupee in payment for the two pegs the proprietor’s lingers detected the fraud. “Wot. again. Mitchell? Ha. ha! My word, you’re a 'ot ’un!” he commented. With an apology, and in great duplicity. the little bookmaker passed up another illegal tender, which Air Hichins. without looking at. gaily swept into the till. There was a curious little spider’sparlour room at the end of the bar in which the proprietor’s wife. Rose, generally sat. It was a great place for opening wine: and now the laughter brought madame forth. ••Ah!” tin* gallant Mitchell exclaimed. ’•your husband just had the laugn on me. Will you join us in drowning the merriment—and you.too. Jack?’’ That round got away with another leaden rupee. 'Aon don’t ’ave ol’ .Jack: but ‘ere’s to you.” Ilichins toasted. But that night, as he counted the day's spoil, silting beside Rose in the little spider'- parlour. he suddenly stopped and rubbed between thumb and linger a metal disk that was greasy to the touch: impatiently he rang it on the teakwood table—it gave back a hollow, mocking cough: there was no jingle of merriment in its echoed tap on tile hard wood. ••’Eaven*! Rose; that Yankee bookmaker 'as been an’ 'ad me—'ad ol •ack. Don't say nothink; we'll jus’ tally it hup again 'im. an' git it back promiscuous like when ’e comes to pay ’is chits.’’ And presently in the count Ilichins came by the twin child of the coiner’s art. the othei bad rupee. As Rose sai<l afterward. “'lchins took on some think orful.” • I'll 'ave 'im for this; an' that 'ere (ap’n Jim! .wo months an' I ain't seen the colour o' 'is coin. Hout 'e goes to-morrer!” The next day llicbin* buckled into Captain Ken wick : but the latter de < hired stoutly enough that he was entirely innocent. The American hid asked him io hive a social glass and that's all there was to it. •’Well, it's jus' like this, (ap’n: I lays then* las' night figurin' hout 'ow J's goin' to git hevcii—'e's a bookmaker, ain't '<*. Cap'll?'* "You know he is. Mr. Ilichins.” •‘An' you know some’at about ‘orse.* •‘l've pai<l a bit for the knowledge. by Jove!” •'Well. now. I orter git rusty 'bout this—git bloomin' rusty: but I hain't goin* to. I wants you to 'elp me, Cap’ll

-jus* work a nice gent lonia n'c game of git tin* heven, see?” "By Jove! delighted—l have leisure and inclination: your servant, pro tern.. Signor Hichins.” "Eh. wot? well, well! ‘Andsome is as ’andsome does. We’ll see. Now. it’s jus’ this way: 1 hain’t never bet a rupee on a 'orse sence I lef’ ol’ Lunnon —not sayin’ as 1 didn't 'ave a bob lion when I was a boy at 'ome. It’s a couple o’ weeks till the races comes hoff ’ere, an’ I asks you. Cap’ll, to find hout some bloomin’ pony as is a sure thing, see? an’ let me know, an’ I’ll ’ave a bit on wi’ Mr. Mitchell, as is so ’andy wi ’i< dummy coins.” "There never was a sure thing in racing. Hichins.” "Look ’ee 'ere. Cap’n—l hain’t con tracted the bar at the race meet ten years for nothink; 1 sees many a rum go. I tell 'ee. I’ve seen some of the surest things—well, jus’ as sure to < onio off as the Lord Mayor’s show in Lun non: needn’t tell me as ’ow it ain’t all cut an’ dried at the Gymkhana Club, the night afwe. wot’s goin’ to win.” "By Jove! hardly that bad, Hichins “Look ‘ee ’ere, Cap’n. I knows wot swells is when they’re racin’: I’ve ’card ’em talk hup at the bar on the course wlien the wine ’ad loosened ’em hup. I’d be ’andling the coin, Cap’n. see? an’ keepin' a heye lion the kitmutgar as ’ow they didn’t loot heverythink, but ol’ Jack’s ears ’d be takin* it all in. Didn’t Shakespeare say that when people ’ad got the wine in they’d hout wi’ heverythink? Needn’t tell me as ’ow the races isn’t fixed wi’ ’em gent riders.” Captain Jim sighed. It was the old story of the man who knows nothing about racing considering everybody connected with it a thief. "What do you want me to do. then. Hichins?” "Well, you’re pretty good friends wi' the hofiicers; an’ 1 sees you ’ere along o’ Mr. Keyes an’ Mr. Morgan: they allers got plenty good ’orses. You jus’ find hout one as is goin' to win. see? an’ I’ll git a het wi’ this man as is so ’andy wi’ ’is lead rupees: and’ p’raps I’ll wipe the sponge hover the slate as betwixt me an’ you. Of course. Cap’n. if we finds hout somethink afore the races comes hot!, mos' like as ’ow the Yank’ll give me pretty goctl hodds. see ?" Captain Jim promised, to do what lie could for the avaricious Boniface whose faith in his ability to pick a “sure thing” was childlike in its simplicity. Hichins offered the Captain his phae .on. drawn by Ned. a mouse-coloured Burman pony, for use in visiting the racecourse; hut Captain Jim muttered to himself: "Here am 1. Captain Fen wick of the Slashers, that was, commissioned tout to his Highness, .lack 'lrhins.'' keeper of a pub: hut I’m jolly well <1 cl if 1 ride to the course in a clothes-basket. The chaps would guy me—l might as well turn dhobie at once.”

Then he borrowed a saddle, and left the phaeton at home. That was th * next morning after Hichins had con tided his brilliant plan. Xnd when Cap tain Jim returned to breakfast at nine o’clock he asked the hotelkeeper to come into his room. "You don't mean to say as 'ow you’ve got one o’ the right sort a’ready. Cap’n.” the latter said as he took a chair. "You’ve got him yourself, Hichins.” “ ’Ow d’you make that hout—l hain’t ’card uothink good? Them bloomin’ jockey boys as is stoppin' in the ’ouse—l never listens to what they says.” "Your pony. Ned, is one of the most natural fencers I ever threw a leg across.” "Wot! ol’ Xed jump.” "Rather! He simply takes them in his stride. And he’s been raced, too. Where did you get him. Hichins?” "Bought ’im from a Burman for a ’undred rupees—he never raced none.” "Y’es, he has—somewhere. I’ll tell you about it. I was cantering around the course this morning when Halliday came racing by on the inside —on the hurdle schooling course, you know. They haven’t strung the ropes yet. and there are only the posts. As Halliday went by in a strong gallop on Slowcoach ” "My word! that’s a good ’orse. Slow coach.” "Yes. he's a winner here. Well, before I could get a pull at my mount’s head he had whisked in between the posts to the hurdle course, and was after Hallidav's mount like a hound

» chasing a hare. By Jove! Hichins. really he’s got a mouth lige a bullock.’ Pull him? hardly! I sat tight I for a cropper. ’Pon my word, don’t b you know. I was actually in a beastly funk. I thought when he’d strike the first jump he’d never raise at it. but would bally well break his legs. I was riding for a fall. 1 can tell you. Hichins.” "My word! it were. Why didn’t you jump off im?” "I held together a bit—‘.here was no use sawing his head just as we were coming to the mud wall, so I sat down in the saddle, took hold of his head, and waited.” "Wot ’appened. Cap’n?” Hichins excited. He had a curious habit ot pulling nervously at his thin, sharp nose when deeply interested. He had now flicked it to a bright red. "What happened? Why. Ned flew the jump like a bird. By Jove! he did; never saw such a ‘lepper’ in my life, never! 1 saw Voluptuary win the Grand National, and Roquefort vin it the year following—that's six years ago. Hichins—but I’ll give you my head for a football if your pony didn’t take his jump to-day cleaner and better than either of them. Of course, the jumps here are smaller.” “My word! An’ then. Cap’n. wot. ’appened?” The thin nose got three sharp tweaks from thumb and finger. “Why. 1 took a double wrap on the reins, braced myself in the stirrups, 'pon honor 1 did. and tried to keep him behind Slowcoach.” "’Eavens! be'lnd Slowcoach! leu don’t mean to say as ’ow ’e could catch ’Alliday's pony—an’ hover the jumps, too?” "Did catch him. I assure you. sirin spite of me. And when he’d done that he let me have his head as gentle as a lamb—he was satisfied.” “Did 'e. now: weren't ’e clever. OT Ned did all that: ’ave somethink to drink. Cap’n?” “So you see. Hichins. he’s raced before; Ned knows what it means to win. Probably where he’s been owned. in some Burman village, he used to clean out all the other ponies. He’s a bally smart one. I assure you.” "My word! 'Ere. ’ave a cheroot, Cap’n. That's a Trichi—a good ’un. Well, well! Then you comes 'ome. eh? 'Scuse me for callin' it ’ome.Cap'n: but it do seem a bit like 'ome to you. don't it ? Rose says to me jus’ to-day. says she: ’Cap’ll Fenwick is jus’ like my brother ’Arry at ’ome.’ Rose's took a great notion toy on. Cap’n. Wot say ’ee —shall we 'ave another tot o’ bran’? But go on. Cap’n: you was a-ridin’ Ned- ” "Y’es. 1 got off the course in bally quick order. I tell you. Y ou've got a corking good chance to make a grand coup.” "Make a wot, Cap’n?”

“Win a lot of money. Your pony’s good and hard through having been driven steadily, and will soon round “Wot race’ll we put ’im in Cap’n? I says we. 'cause of course we works together. Ha. ha I rare bit of sport for of Ned to up wi’ ’is lip an’ wipe hoflT the slate ’twixt me an’ you. ain’t it, Cap’n?” "I’ve got a programme for the week’s races. Hiehins: here it is, and there’s the very race for your crock—the Pago da Hurdles: For Burman ponies: ponies thirteen hands to carry ten stun: maid ♦ ns allowed ten pounds: ponies that have never starred in a hurdle race al lowed fourteen pounds; and penalties tor winning.” "Wot does that all tigger leu at. Cap’n?” "Well, your pony, never having start cd. would pick up nine stun; and Slow coach—he’s won two or throe times—would have to carry about ten stun ten.” "Would ’e now? My word’ Cap’n you do git it ’andy like.” "By .Jove! your gee-gee can beat lie other at those weights, or I’m a downy lipped griftin. that’s all.” “Could ’e now. really? My, my! Jus fancy Ned a-doin’ all that arter totin me an’ Rose round Rangoon, quiet like, in the phaeton. Won’t I ’ave co bu a saddle or blanket for ’im, or ?ome think, if ’e’s goin' to be a race’orse —-an ‘ire one of ’em jockey boys to feed ‘im ?” “Hiehins. your knowledge of the racing game is as nebulous as my c-ear. old fat Colonel’s idea of war. \ou are sophisticated to a high degree in th • ar. of mine host, but you could own Galo pin. or even old Eclipse, and with your rudimentary turf experience never win a race in Rangoon. Rangoon, sir. is a gentleman’s meeting, therefore baby difficult.” "That's wot 1 says about these gents. Let’s us ’ave you hidea as to 'ow we orter to work this. Cap’n?” ’‘Just leave it to me. and you play banker. By Jove! we’ll make them sit up.” “Put in the rupees, eh? W’ot’ll all tha cost. Cap’n?” “Devilish little—all but the betting: you can go as far as you like in that You’ve got a bally good chance to brea < the bookies, that’s what you've got. Drive the pony in the phaeton, the same as usual, and I’ll gallon him out in the paddy fields; there’re plenty of bunds to jump there. In the evening 1 can give him a turn on the course. Nobody’ll tumble.” "My word. Cap’n, that’s clevi r. An I ’ooks Mr. Bookmaker Mitchell for •< bet some day as ‘e’s in ’ere pretty fresh, eh. Ain’t* that the caper? Sort o’ charf ’im ’bout puttin’ ol’ Ned in for a race'or so.” "Yes. By Jove! he’ll lay you a bund red to one. and it’s about an even-money chance that you win the Pagoda Hurdles with that pull in the weight.” “Who’ll ride ’im. Cap’n? P'rhaps the jockey boy won’t try to win—an’ you’re too ’eavy.” “Dick Richmond’s as straight as a string; he used to ride for me when 1 was—well, when I carried a sabre in her Majesty’s service. We can depend on Dick.” "Look ’ee ’ere, Cap’n —close bargains makes close friends, 1 alius allows. I’ll get a big bet outen Mitchell, and you has a quarter bin everyth ink—’ow’s that ?”’ "That’ll do, Hiehins; and the slate rubbed oft*, eh?” "All right. I’ll see as ’ow Mr. Mitchell don’t pay ’is bet in lead rupees, too—l’ll teach ’im to ‘ave Jack Tchins. That afternoon the proprietor of th * Adelphi wandered up and down the main street of Rangoon sitting in his phaeton behind the sturdy pony. Ned. To the usual observer his movements were aimless and devoid of purpos?; i.i actuality he was fishing—he was angling for Mr. Bookmaker Mitchell. About five o’clock the layer of odd rattled up to the Adelphi in a gharry. The proprietor of the hotel was ostentatiously flicking the dust from Ned’ribs with bis handkerchief. “You ought to use a silk wipe for that. Jack.” Mitchell drawled. “H • looks a rare-blooded one. doesn’t he? “Well, well: do ’e now. Mr. Mitchell? Ol‘ Ned could go faster ’n some of ’em race’orses they loses money hover—l’m blowed if 'e can’t!” "He looks it. Hiehins. Why don’t you put him in training, and start him? One of the winners of the Grand Nation

al. Moonraker, was bought out of a butcher’s cart.” "Well, well; was ’e now? L hain’t never give it no thought. P’raps I might make a race’orse of Ned.” A small group of sahibs sitting on the verandah were enjoying hugely Mitchell’s chaffing of old Hiehins. The little bookmaker winked at them and continued: "Hear that, boys? 1 knew Hiehins was a sport. You start your pony at this meeting. Jack, and I’ll lay fifty to one against him; there now!” "My word! will ’ee now?” "Take him up. Hitchins. Don’t let him blufl’ you. It’s a good bet. if you do lose-” "I s’pose ol’ Xed’s best at pullin me an’ Rose in the phaeton.” Hitchins retorted. turning the horse over to the syce and disappearing into the hotel. The men on the verandah laughed, lint then they didn't hear the host whisper to Rose in the little room at he end of the bar: "My word! I got ‘im goin’. 'E’ll come back to-night w;‘ more charf. an' I'll snap ’im up. ‘E’ll think I've ’ad a drop too much o’ the drink.”

Hiehins was a rare judge of human nature: he played men as an angler plays a trout. And, as he had prophesied. that night the bookmaker and two or three friends took up with exuberance the little matter of starting old Xed in a race. As the roasting went on Hiehins appeared to come more and more undei the influence of anger and drink, until finally he declared emphatically that " ’< would take the bloomin’ bet; tluy weren't goin' to stump ’im.’’ "You’re a ’igh crower, Mr Bookie.' Hiehins said (and bis shrewd grey eyenarrowed a little in their lids) ; “blow me if I don't see ’ow game you be. ’Ere you are, me ’earty, cover that!” And he shoved a crisp one-hundred-rupee note upon the bar. nodded, and tweaked his nose impatiently. The bookmaker’s eyes opened in astonishment: then he laughed derisively— everybody did. Surely old man Hiehins must have been hitting the hot tie pretty hard when he bad commenced throwing hundred-rupee notes away. "What’s this for. Jack?” Mitchell asked, picking up the certificate, and . \ amining it. “ ‘Ta:n't a flimsy; it don’t call to* im lead rupees—it’s a little love letter from m<* sayin’ as ’ow my ol’ plug. Xed. II win a race at the Rangoon meet.” "Good for you. Hiehins!” a bystand“i <ried. "You've got to make good. Mit < hell.” “That’ll settle the question as Io who's bluffin’,” the proprietor dee’iod. winking at the little audience. "I'll call it,’’ the bookmaker retorted, half angrily. “All the same. I don’t want to take your money. Jack. Old Xed couldn't raise a gallop if his tail was on fire.” “Don’t ’ee fret erbout me an’ Xed I leckons we've both cut hour heye »e.*fh. Jus’ write out a ticket fifty to one ag’in that ’ere ’undred as ’ow Ned «bm’.

win a race at the meet in’. 'Ow much is that, gents?” "Five thousand to a hundred,” Mirehell answered; "hut I don't lay against a horse for a whole meeting. Pick your race —you might find a race with ciily a couple . f entries, and. well, it might so happen that the other horses would get an attack of the .lack.” "Seems to me as 'ow you're crawlin' a bit. Mr Mitchell.’’ "No; that’s business; l’l! lay against him for any race you choose to name, and that's all 1 will do.’’ "'Gw's that, gents call that fair?” the proprietor appealed to the listeners. The audience decided that the book maker’s demand was reasonable. "All right, gents; I bows to the verdict. Let me see. Xed’s a pretty longlegged 'orse. an’ p’raps 'e ain't none too fast—'e orter go well in one of cm fence races; yes. my word! 1 picks one of ’em races hover the fences.’’ "Hurdle race. Hiehins.” a man ig gested. "Which hurdle race do you choose. Jack?” the bookmaker asked. “There's t h<* 'Burman Hurdles.’ the ’Ramrooi.

Hurdles,’ the ‘Pagoda Hurdles,’ all at a mile, for Burman ponies.” "T’ne Pagodie ’idles sounds all right make it the Pagodie 'L illies, thank "Well, there's your ticket, five thousand to a hundred. John Hichins’wbat’s bis colour. Jack?” "He's mos’ like a mole,’ ’pears to me.” "Jack Hiehins' mouse coloured pba< ton pony for the Pagoda Hurdles.” Then Mitchell added with a little laugh: “You’re a pretty hot member. Jack, and if I made the ticket out simply *Ned.' you might Lave another Xed in the

stable there. Now, I’ll bet you another five thousand to a hundred that you don't w ; n.” "Blowed if 1 don’t go you—you don’t blurt* ol' Jack, I tell ’ee.” And to the bookmaker's astonishment ihe proprietor shoved another hundredrupee note under his aud when he had pocketed the little pasteboard came back with "Want anv more of it, Mitchell?” In justice to the bookmaker it may he said he was convinced that Hiehins was really much drunker than he appeared to be. ‘ Xo. 'ave a drink on the ’ouse.” the proprietor said; and w r hen they had charged their glasses he added, as roast. “’Ere’s to ol’ Xed. Rose's phaeton 'orse, as is to win the Pagodie Urdles!” I’hen the bookmaker ordered a round; and. as is the way of men, soldier after soldier stepped into the breach, until, at closing time, the proprietor confided to madam that he had got back at least *2O rupees already in the way of trade, “Wot with the chartin' hover this bet, an' fellers a-coniin’ to talk erbout it, we’ll ave it hall back agin race day—the bet’ll stand me nothink.” For a week Captain Jim schooled old Xed. Then he said to the hotelkeeper: “We'll just give the pony a gallop on the course, the Pagoda Hurdles distance. I've arranged with Morgan to try Ned with his pony. Schoolboy. Schoolboy is just about as good as slowcoach. We'll put up the weights they'll carry in the race, and if Ned can win the trial handi ly he'll land the Pagoda Hurdles. I’ll put Richmond up with nine stun—Ned’s weight. Well try them at peep o’ day. and take a chance of not being seen. But it won't matter much, for you’ve got a jolly big bet. M >rgan will keep it dark for his own interest.” Xed won the trial, with probably seven pounds in hand; and Hiehins could see that the ten thousand was as good as landed. Captain Jim thought they had pulled oil the gallop unobserved; but in the grandstand there slept a tout retained by 'Mitehell for the purpose of assisting unobtrusively at just such functions as this little trial. The tout recognised Schoolboy. Morgan, and Fenwick; and by following, at a distance, the unknown winner of the trial to the hotel stable he perfected the knowledge which he presently turned in to his employer. A ilood of unpleasant light illumined the bookmaker’s mind. It was probably a plant of clever Captain Jim’s; the driving of the pony in the phaeton was, perhaps, all a blind. At any rate, they had roped him for a big bet at 50 to 1 against a horse that had shown a trial good enough to wjn. He might get the bet oft; there was just a chance. That evening he said jocularly to the hotelkeeper: "Here's your two hundred. Jack: I guess that little joke of ours is carried far enough, eh?’’ “Oh. we hain’t ’ad a laugh, yet. Mitchell. Jus' keep it bv ’ee. and I’ll take it along o’ the ten thousand. An’ mind ‘ee. no lead uns this time!” The words had a little ring of mirth, but the red-gray eyes, much like an ani mal’s. held a cunning look of victory.

Mitchell tried several little bluffs which Hichins parried easily. Finally the bookmaker, starting at a hundred, wound up by offering Ned's owners five hundred rupees to have the bet cancelled. His eagerness to settle only increased the other's satisfaction with things as they were. X “We'll settle. Mr. Mitchell, the day arter the Pagodie Urdles. I got the account all toted up on that ’ere card of youin—you keeps two ’undred or I gets ten thousand; an’ no lead rupees this time, me bucko.” Later. Hichins sat for an hour with Rose after closing time, planning what he would do with the ten thousand that was as good as won. He would build a billiard-room and bowling-alley adjoining the hotel. “My word! Rose!” he said, “I was too Lossy wi’ Captain Jim—'e gits two thousand five 'undred for nothink; ’e don’t take no chances. ’Tain’t fair; I bus' <ee erbout this. It'll take nigh the ’ole bloomin’ ten thousand to build that alley. 'Taiu’t fair—'tain’t fair!” and he tweaked his nose impatiently, as though that sharp member had been at fault in making the bargain. “ ’Clio! there’s Cap’n Jim goin’ to bed. Come in, Cap’n; an’ ’ave somethink afore goin’ to roost. ’Ow's Ned doing?” “Fit as a fiddle. He's a corking fine doer in the stable.” “Wot do I get out'n this. Tchins?” Rose asked, winking at Fenwick. "Cap’n 'll ’are to make yon a present of a di'mond ring, I reckon,” the husband answered. “If it comes off I get a trip home to old England,” Fenwick said, ignoring the little matter of the jewel. “I’ve booked passage for next month on the head of it, anyway.” "I say, Cap’n. you're giftin’ t«o much out o’ this thing-—I takes all the risks, hie an’ Rose was sayin’ jus’ afore you come in that you'd be doin’ right ’andsome if you got a thousand. Wot say ’ee, Cap'n, a thousand if you win, eh?” “Three-quarters of a loaf is better than none. Hichins, isn’t it?” “ 'Ow's that, Cap’n—-where do that work in?” "Think it over—that’s a good ehap; I’m going to bed. Madam. I’m witness that Hichins* said you ought to have a diamond ring out of it—don’t let him forget.” Half-way up the stairs Captain Jim called “Hieliins!” And as the lattey stood in the door of the spider’s parlour the Captain drawled sleepily: ‘l’ll give you a pointer in the racing game: never try to cut the fees of your trainer or your jockey; it's devilish bad business —it's a losing game. Think it over. Good-night.” For a day Hichins walked about, figuratively jingling in his pocket the ten thousand rupees that seemed as great a certainty as anything in racing could be. Captain Jim could have everything he wanted in the meantime; there was nothing in the house too good for him. As Ned's form had been exposed in the trial. Fenwick put him boldly to ■work on the course, with the result that the second day from the morning of the trial he had some startling information for his principal. "Ry Jove! old mnn,” he commenced, *‘lni afraid we’re at check; in our hurry we've overrun the scent a bit.” “Wot’s up. Cap’n? Blow me if I knows wot yer drivtn’ at.” "It’s devilish simple, Hicliins; your pony, Ned. turns out to be one Fusee, that won half a dozen hurdle races np at Thayetuiayo.” "Well, well; did '« now. Cap'n? That's bloomin’ good, bein’t it—shows e's a race’orse ?” “Yes; and it also indicates that you’ll never finger a rupee of Mitchell'n big bet. and that I’ll go right on frying in this pagoda-dotted hades.” Hiehins’ face naled, and be tweaked his nose furiously. “Wot’s that, Cap’n —wes’t they Jet *im start )ua’ cause ’a’s wont Mos' like it’s all lies, anyway, ’is bein’ a raceorsa.” ha's Fume right Mongh— Sum-

mers twigged him this morning on the course; lie showed me two or three marks — knows him like a book. He can start in the race all right, because the entries are not closed yet; it's just a question of weight, that's all. As Ned, never having started in a hurdle race, he was allowed fourteen pounds, which made his weight nine stun; now he loses that, and puts up ten pounds for his wins, which makes him carry ten stun ten. And, besides, Summers tells me that, though he can go like the very devil under a light weight, a heavy weight stops him. And I believe it: he's a herring-gutted brute, not well ribbed up, and as long-legged as c. camel. He's got too much daylight under him for n “ 'Evens above! does that mean as ’ow ’e ha i n't got not sort o’ chance to git first?” “If there's anything in the principles of racing that's about what it comes to.” “An’ I'm to lose two 'undred —two ’undred rupees. Seems as ’ow you’ve sort o’ made a mess o* this, Cap n. You've been runin’ a score ’ere for hover two months, an’ now, when I goes in along o’ you to ’elp wipe off the slate, it costs me two ’undred more.” “Awfully sorry, by Jove! it is hard lines; but you’ve got to take a chance when you go racing, Hichins.” “I weren’t goin’ racin'; I sort o’ let you ’andle ol’ Ned, thinkin’ to wipe out that score. I was jus’ a-kiddin’ Mitchell along .o’ that bet there. I didn’t want to take no ten thousand off'n ’im. I best tell ’im so right away, an’ git the bet off; ’e's jus’ mean 'nough if ’e ’eard anythink to want to stick roe for that two ’undred. A roan as ’ll pass lead rupees in the way of a joke ain’t to be trusted; is ’e, now, Cap’n?” “There’s another thing.” Fenwick broke in with; "Richmond couldn’t ride Fusee at a hundred and fifty pounds; the boy only weighs a hundred, and you'd have a whole arsenal of lead iu the saddle.”

“Well, ’pears as ’ow I'd better see Mitchell an’ tell 'im as 'ow that bet’s off—l was only kiddin’ im, anyhow.” But, unfortunately for the Boniface, Mitchell's tout had supplied him with the newly-discovered pedigree of pony Ned; and he smiled grimly when Hichins, in the most, offhand manner in the world, said: “I been a thinkin’ that offer of yourn hover, Mitchell — Ro-e she says as 'ow a bird in the ’and’s worth two in the bush—an’ now, if you’ll hopen a bottle, I’m agreeable to take the five 'uudred an' call it all hoff.”

Ths layer of odds patted himself on the back as he thought of what one day’s development had saved him. To be sure, there was a value to be placed upon knowledge; it was worth money. So he answered seductively: "I won’t give five hundred now, Jack; besides, we ain't had that laugh yet.” “Wot’ll you give?” “Won’t give anything.” “Ha. ha! not to save ten thousand?” “No.” “I’ll take two ’undred.” “No.”

“Well, now, look 'ee ’ere. Mitchell. 1 don’t want bo two ’undred, nor nothink from you; I was jus’ a-rubbin’ it in hover them lead rupees—a-charfin’ of you; 'ere's your bloomin' tickets back, you give me the two ’undred rupees, hopen a bottle, an’ we'll call it square. ’Twouldn't never do for me to take money off'n customers. I'll jus’ run Ned fer the stake—an’ ’e'll win it, too.”

Mitchell closed one eye quizzically at the scheming hotelkeeper, and said; — “Ned, with nine stun up, might have won; but Fusee, with ten stun ten io the saddle, and a week’s training, is a good fifty to one against. The bet stands, my dear boy. And, I say, Hichins, you worked this pretty elever—picked up a good hurdler, drove him a year in that old clothes - basket on wheels, and then roped me in for a ten thousand-rupee bet.” “Yer a chartin', lUtehel). *Er% I’U

hopen a bottle —Monopole, too, at that. Come an’ ’ave dinner along o’ Rose an’ me, an’ we’ll jus’ drop this ’ere little joke. Shall I tear up the tickets?” “The bet stands—thought you was game, Jack.”

Foiled in his little play, Hiehias became very crusty with Captain Jim; he blamed the ex-soldier for the calamitous speculation into which he had drifted.

“That ’ere Yankee bookie, ’e’s jus’ sordid enough to turn our little bit- of ebarf into real business. Why. look 'ee ’ere, Cap'n, ’e 'ad the cheek to say as ’ow ’e was goin’ to stick me to that bet as was all made in the way of a joke.: So we've got to put Ned—Fusee, as they calls ’im now—into the race, win or lose. Can't you ride ’im, Cap'n? You know you orter sort o’ do somethink to git me out'n this ’ole that I gits into along o’ ’elpin’ you.” "I’ll ride the gee-gee, only if I lose don't say I pulled his head off.” “Now, Cap’n—l say! ’Ope I ain’t a man o’ that sort. Hain’t I acted fair all along o’ the account.”

So Captain Jim tried to pull together Fusee, that had been Ned. the respectable phaeton horse, for a bruising race; and, swathed in a huge sweater, took five-mile runs iu the sweltering Burmese mornings to bring himself down to weight. He even lay for an hour, two different evenings, buried in the stable litter to sweat away a couple of pounds.

"I’ve let the old duffer in for this,” he muttered. “He’s a squealer; a bounder, forty kinds of a Shylock-—but it's my campaign, and I've got to see it

through. Prime Minister to a publican. Captain Jim Fenwick!” Thus he revile* himself.

And if he racked and tortuied hie body to ride the weight, Hicliins flagellated Captain Jim’s patient temper with a nine-tailed scourge of mistrust and interference. He wanted Fenwick to sleep in the stable with Fusee for fear somebody would get at the horse; he had “’eard of sueh things bein’ done.” He was like a child with a precious toy; he wanted to smash it —to pick it to pieces with meddlesome fingers. He was an amateur at losing money. From the day he had landed in Rangoon he hud steadily gone on making, making, profiting: now he might sustain a loss. It unnerved him.

A certain latent chivalry in Captain Jim kept him patient through the season of the other's unreasoning annoyance. It was his instigation that had started it all; also he was indebted beyond all chance of redemption to thia man of the pound of flesh. And then came the last day of Captain Jim's trial, the day of the Pagoda Hurdles.

Fusee's chance of winning had been pretty well knocked out by the weight; etill there was a ehance. Fenwick was familiar enough with the ways of racehorses to know that an animal will sour in his temper tinder the gradual accumulation of weight, on his back until, at. last, in disgust, he may chuek all striving. Then a long rest, bringing forgetfulness, may bring him back to his best form. It might have been this way with Fusee; he certainly went good and strong in his work, always reaching for the bit.

The Pagoda Hurdles was of undoubted interest; a special charm was lent to the race by the presence of the hotelkeeper's trap-horse. There were a dozen runners, with Slowcoach the favourite. Schoolboy, and a grey mare, Begum, were also well backed. Hiehins saw with dismay fifty to one marked up against Fusee’s name. Captain Jim had said they had a fair chance even at the weight, but the bookmaker's slate seemed to give the lie to the optimism. The fifty to one stared at Hiehins derisively in big, whitechalked figures on the black bettinglist. He had hoped that at the very last people would have been eager to back his pony; then he might have had his bet cancelled. Cher the bar he had assured every one, as they drauk their pegs, that Fusee was going to win. Just before the Pagoda Hurdles, Hichins. leaving Hose to watch the till, came from behind his bar and hurried over to Bookmaker Mitchell. The dozen ponies were lined up in front of the stand; the race was a mile, once around. “Wot sav 'ee, Mitchell; be we on or haff?” We're on, Mr Hiehins. But the ponies are oil; there they go!"’ “My word! Fusee’s first, ain't ’e—that's Captain Jim’s red-ringed jacket in front, ain't it?” The bookmaker, focussing his glasses on the sun-splashed mosaic of shifting, undulating red, green, yellow and blue, tnswered: “Yes, Hiehins, if your pony was as good as your jock you'd win out.” A man at their elbow croaked disagreeably: “That’s old Fusee’s way—l saw him run at Thayetinayo. He’ll cut it out no end for half a mile, and then •hut up like a turtle.” “’Ow's 'e runnin,’ Mitehell?” Hiehins asked nervously. “First rate, Jack; he's doing bully for a buggy bourse. Slowcoach’s in front now, and going easy.” “My word! is *e beatin’ Fusee?” Mitahell stooped down, and, with a •mile, said: ‘'Captain Jim’s sold you. Jack —I’d have him up before the stewards.” “No eharfin’, Mitchell. Are they beatin’ Fusee? I say. Mitehell, call tho bet off, will you; Fusee might win yet—call it off?” The bookmaker took a look through his glasses without answering. Fuses was running second to Slowcoach, but Mitchell’s sharp eye detected Captain Jim’s easy seat. He was sitting down In the saddle waiting; he had a chance. Mitchell turned to Fusee’s owner and said: “All right, Jack; he’s beaten now, but we’ll call it off. Here, give me the tickets—the bet’s off.” Hiehins complied, tweaked his nose In a pleased manner, heaved a sigh of relief, and then inconsistently whined: “It’d be jus’ like my luck fol Fusee to win now; I orter landed that ten thousand.”

“Fusee’s beat, my dear bey," the other answered, with a wave of his hand. Mitchell's glasses bad read aright Captain Jim’s movements. At the halfmile Fenwick, bearing in mind Fusee’s speed, took a pull at his mount, and allowed Slowcoach to lead him half a length. Captain Jim was listening with every nerve of his body for the first sign of his horse’s cracking up —the little swaying tremble that would foretell he had shot bis bolt. Ho was nursing him like a babe. If Fusee’s courage was yellowtinted he must keep him just short of the breaking point. So far the little chap had run as straight and true as Hermit had come down the hill in the Derby. The halflength that Slowcoach lead by was on sufferance; but would Fusee last? At the three-quarters the mouse-col-oured pony was still pushing into the bridle; his lean head reached to the bit, and there was no sign of a waver. As they swung into the straight Slowcoach’s rider panted, “How — are you—goin’—Fenwick ?” “Bally strong — I'm going to—win this!” “I stand—to win a—lot over—my pony. Let me in—on the rail—l’ll stand you a quarter in the lotteries.” “How much ?” ‘ “Perhaps—a thousand.” “Thanks; two and a-hnlf thou—ln this skate—l’m goiong—on—to win now. Good-bye, Major.” It' wasn’t exactly good-bye. for the Major sat down and rode like the good horseman that he was; and Slowcoach waa game. He clung to the mouse-

coloured Fusee like a bulldog—like a leech. Inch by inch the despised puller of a phaeton crept up. guided by Captain Jim's hands that were as tender as a woman's on the bit; neck and neck they raced up the last sixteenth, the favourite and the fifty-to-one chance. The stand screamed itself hoarse in vociferous admiration. “Come in, Slowcoach!” “Whisky wins!” for Fusee had been dubbed “Whisky.” Captain Jim was riding for a s’ght of the chalk cliffs of old England—for a quarter share in that ten thousand, and a piece of the stake. The mouse-coloured muzzle was first to blurr Che black line to the judge's eye. A short head, and Fusee had got it. When Captain Jim had weighed in, and stepped from the scales, Hiehins’ voice was the first to congratulate him. “You see you was wrong, Cap'n. OF Ned 'e beat ’em all. My word! *e beat ’em all. Never see such a ’orse race in all my life! I bet a man ten rupees you'd win when I see you Cghtin' it out there. My word! I did.” “Yes. we landed it. By Jove! it was a close squeak.” “Pity as ’ow you was afeared ol’ Ned couldn't beat 'em other ’orses, wasn’t it?” “By Jove! one can never tell in racing. But we've done pretty well—we've landed the ten thousand, anyway, end about four hundred in the stakes.” “No. we hain’t, Cap'n. Me an’ Mitchell called the bet off when you got be’ind there.” Captain Jim’s face grew white —passion blazed in his eye; then, with a sneer on his lips, ho said: “You halfbred sweep! You haven’t the pluck of a jackal! And I threw a wav a thousand- —” “Wot’s that, Cap’n?” But Captain Jim, with a sigh as the white cliffs of Albion vanished, strode away to the dressing-room. .