A LUCKY MEETING.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume VIII, Issue 409, 26 May 1898, Page 15

A LUCKY MEETING.

AN EPSOM STORY. “ Great Scott, how late it is ! ” cried F., abruptly, halting as the clock struck nine. “You’ll have to wait—those beastly letters must be written; or, look here;” he rang the bell and gave an order, continuing, “ I’ve sent for Beaver; he can tell the yarn from find to finish while I write ’em, which will kill two Birds with one stone.”

“ Here he comes,” he added slipping towards the side-door. “ Give him a claret-glass of port and say you want the Hermit Derby story,” and he vanished just as the old coachman entered, bashful and bowing. “ There’s been a many changes since that Derby thirty years ago,” began the veteran, as I explained my wants and handed him a bumper. “My best respects, sir—many changes, as perhaps you know.

“ Epsom Downs and the stands and paddock look much the same; but there’s a change when you look at the hill, sir. Gipsy fortune-tellers and si ilt-walkers, and the boxin’ and gamblin’ booths—all done clear away with, and everything for law and order so that a lady might walk about by herself almost without a ‘ chap-of-her-own,’ as the nods say, to mind her. But it wasn’t like that in those days - else, maybe, I shouldn’t huve this yarn to tell you. “ As you was quite right in sayin’, sir, I’d had my bit on Hermit (bein’ Lincolnsheer bred-and born, which—well I know Squire Chaplin by sight). Forty crowns to old Bob Denham laid me. and my pals got bullyragging me —said I’d been a fool twice over —once for taking forties, when I could have had fifty or sixty to one, and, second, for backin’ such an outside chance at all. But they laughed t’other side of their mouths when Daley squeezed him home, and old Bob paid ten pound five back ! I can see the horses now, cornin’ tearin’ down the hill from Tat’n’am Corner, looking all of a blur —like you see in a bad photo—owin’ to the snow a-swirlin’ round them.

“ Well, sir, bein’ in pocket, I risked another crown or two on the races after; and, as ’twas ‘my day out,’ 1 found a couple more winners, and felt a reg’lar merchant when ’twas all over and/we started off for the station. “ - Blowed if I don’t take the missis and kids to the theajter to night, and Rotherville Gardens, Sunday,’ says I to myself, and I got thinking over the" high old times we’d have till 1 somehow . missed my pals in the crowd, and was by myself.

“ ‘ The missis shall have a new dress’ —I, goes on, joggin’ along through the fu’zzes, with seventeen of the best safe in my pocket and my hand jambed in atop of ’em, ‘ and we’ll go to Hampton Court, and ’ when out comes a couple of rough-lookin’ gipsy coves and stood right in front of me starin’.

“ One of ’em gives a nod of his head, seemin’ly to some ’un behind me. I half turned to look round; three more chaps come along, and one of ’em, as was half-seas over, blundered up against me (which I’d seen him before in the ring). ‘Who are you a-shoving of?’ says he, swearin’ something awful, ’nough to dry the ground up. “ ‘No one,’ says I, a-walking on. “-‘ You’re a liar ’ says he, ‘ which you took and shoved me, through a-wishin to roll me in among the prickles ! ’ and ’fore I could say a word the whole bloomin’ lot was on to me

“ Plunk. I caught the first one, sending him pecking, right into the middle of a fu’zz bush ; but lor’, I’d no more chance than a baby, and down I went on my back, with one of them gonophs siltin’ on my head, while the others started clawin’ at my pockets, swearing that if I didn’t lay still they’d—well, there, sir, I don’t wan’t to spoil your appetite for dinner, and ’twould fairly turn you sick, s’posin’ I told you all they said. “ ’Course they’d seen old Bob a-payin’ me over Hermit. As I just said, sir, I’d noticed the drunken one—

“ Well, never mind what they threatened, I kicked and struggled for all I was worth, and, wriggling my face from under the cove setting on it, I yelled ‘ Murder!’ at the top o’ my voice—just, thank God, as a couple of young toffs was passin’ by. ‘ Murder!’ I cries out— ‘ Murder.’ “ ‘ By Gad ! Jimmy ’ I heard one of the toffs say, ‘here’s a lot of brutes, killin’ someone.’ “ ‘ Get out of it, you blackguard,’ and I see a patent leather boot catch one of ’em in the ribs, liftin’ him clean over me, while at the same moment the gonoph, who’d been ’arf smothering me, jumped up and bolted, followed by the rest of ’em, and I set up, gaspin’.’ J‘‘Hurt'you much?’ arsts the gent who’d used his footj ‘ Only out of puff. I think.’ ‘ That’s all, sir,’ says I, ‘ and thank you kindly.’ And then I told ’em how ’t’ad come about; and lummy, sir, I felt as say as a robin, for my ooftish was safe after all. “ ‘ I’m only a pore cabby, genelmen,’ says I, ‘but if ever it’s in my power to do anything for you, James Beaver, Hardy’s Mews, Bloomsbury, will always find me, and ’ “ ‘ Rot! ’ says or.e of them, cutting me short (and glad I was, for I was that shook I come pretty near crying). ‘ ’Twas only a bit o’ fun for us,’ he goes on very kindly. ‘ Come on, better keep along with us as far as the s'ation ; ’twont do for them to cop vou by yerself.’ And soon’s I’d got my second wind again I thanked him and went “ Now, sir, I’ll get on t> what you’d call the ‘ Co-in-si-dence ’ of the yarn, which happened a couple o’ years after. “ I was my keb slowly ’long the Marrybun Road, waiting till ’twas time to call i t Madrrne Tusaard’s for a gent who’d engaged me —half after nine, that was the time, I remember. ‘ Suddenly, passin’ one of the side streets, the old horse shied fit to throw himself down, and all but bol<ed ; and enough to make him, too. Round the corner, and slap-bang almost against

us, come a cove fit to Lighten ole Nick hiisaelf. Ear’s I could see, he hadn’t nothing on but a

night-shirt and slippers, and he clutched hold of Jehu’s bridle and stood glaring up into my face, panting. “ ‘ For Gawd’s sake,’ says he, ‘ save me ! ’ “ ‘ Save yer ? ’ says I, ‘ What from ? Loose them reins, will yer ? ’ and I snatched up the whip. “ ‘ I’ve’scaped from the ’sylum yonder,’ says he, jerkin”his thumb back over hie shoulder. ‘ They’ve shut me up, but I’m as sane as you. Oh ! b’lieve what I say, for Heaven’s sake 1 ’ he goes on. ‘ I swear to you I’m tellin’ the truth ;’ and the pore critter dropped on his knees and fair sobbed again. “ Whew, jimmy Beaver,’ thinks I, ‘ here’s a queer start; look out, my lad, or you’ll get yerself in a fine scrape.’ “ ‘ How long ’ave they kep’ you there ? ” I arsts out loud, meanin’ to keep him talkin’ till the keepers come up, for I could hear some ’un running at the far end o’ the street he’d come down.

“‘ A yeas and more,’ says he, startin’ up, for he’d heard them too. 1 ’Ark, - ' he says ; ‘ they’re close behind. Why, won’t you b’lieve me ? ’ He jumped back fair into the lamplight as he spoke, und, sir, you might have downed me with a cabbage leaf. Swelp me, ’twas the pore young gent who saved me from them Fpsom gonophs. “ His face and the front of his shirt was all smeared with blood and dirt, and his hair was cropped like a prisoner’s; but I’d a’ sworn to him all the same.

“ ‘ Lord’s sake, sir,’ says I, ‘ whatever have they been doin’ to you? Jump in, sir! Jim Beaver ain’t one to forget a good turn. You a loony—jump in,’ and with that he tore open the lids and tumbled in head first, with me whippin’ up the horse just as three burly fellers came peltin’ round the corner. “ ‘ Stop ! ’ says they, just catching sight of him. “‘When I gets where I’m going,’ says I, slashing at one of ’em, for he’d snatched at the bridle, and prayin’ as ’twould be too dark for them to read my number, and orf we goes. I drove on for about a mile, then I pulled up and got down, takin’ the horse-rug with me. “ ‘ Wrap this ’ere round you, sir,’ says I, for the young gent was all of a dither, fair perished with cold; and when he’d done it, he told me all about the business.

“It seemed that some of his relaytives — through wishin’ to get hold of his money —had got two leather ’earted blackguards to swear as he was mad, and shut him up in a privit ’sylum, paying handsome for his keep, so that the cove as run the place wouldn’t listen to reason, but kep’ him there, though he was as sound as you or me, sir. “ That night, after goin’ to bed, he’d managed to give ’em the slip, climbed down a waterpipe, and cut his lucky. “ I drove him straight off to my bit of a crib in Soho, where the Missis (having often heard about that Derby bueiness) made that fuss over him that I turned quite jealous. In the morning I went out and fetched a lawyer, and that ended it so far as I know.

“ Seeing, sir, that —supposin’ I’d not known him —Master would have been shut up again, while I, if livin’, would still been drivin’ of a keb, that Epsom was, for both of us, what you might call a “ Lucky Meeting.”—G. B. M. PORT in London Sporting Times.