THE STRAIGHT TIP.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume IX, Issue 431, 27 October 1898, Page 9

THE STRAIGHT TIP.

A Tale of a Tout. {By “ Grryll” in Sporting Sketches). Lord Bertie Marlow is that curious anomaly—a succes-ful owner with a sneaking regard for touts. Bertie’s racing friends regard this weakness as the soft spot in his mental equipment, while Rotheram, his present trainer, spits when his patron’s peculiar trait is referred to. Lord Bertie declares, “ Of course there are touts and touts, but even the worst of them are not so black as they painted. Why, the best pal I ever had was a tout, wasn’t he, Charley ?” and then he •miles at me, because he is thinking of a time when he was not a successful owner, but quite the reverse, and of an occasion when I was able to do him a service. I return his smile with interest, not because the recollection amuses me, but because I know a good deal more than he does of the details of my experience as a tout. And this is the how of it. On the afternoon of October 3rd, 1879, I received an urgent note from Lord Bertie Marlow requesting me to call round at his chambers at once. I am not a racing man, but I have excellent reasons for remembering that it was the afternoon prior to the Littlebury Autumn Handicap—a race that was at that day a medium for heavy betting—and that his lordship was overflowing with bad temper and bad language when, in response to his summons, I arrived.. Bertie’s supremacy in the use of lucid and forcible language has always been acknowledged among his intimate friends, and on this particular occasion he favored me with an exhibition of curious and picturesque word-painting that roused me to enthusiasm. “ Splendid, my dear old chap, splendid ! ” I remarked, as he paused to light a cigar—“ a very marked improvement. There’s more tone about it—more finish, if I may employ the term—mora fervent abandon than I have observed before.” “ But the provocation, my boy; consider the provocation,” interrupted his lordship. “ Oh ! certainly, that mustn’t be lost sight of. Was the provocation alluded to in what you er — what you have just been saying ? ’ ' His lordship dropped limply into a chair. “ You don’t seem to catch on,” he said, dejectedly. “ I have just unburdened myself of a complete explanation of the provocation. 111 do it again if you require it.” • “ Do,” 1 said. “ Taka it a bit slower, and put it into simpler language, if you’ve got any ; the racing phrases you employ confuse me. , I will not repeat his story in his own language, because, although he was trying h rd and confin ing himself to easy words of one syllable, he said many things that could only be recorded with a red-hot poker dipped in blood. The substance of his grievance was certainly some justification for his mode of expression, and I sympathised with him without seeing how I could be of any solid assistance. As an owner of racehorses, and a backer on a large scale, Lord Bertie had enjoyed his fair share of success, but the good luck that had attended him up to the Manchester November Handicap of ’7B had been missing since the Lincoln Handicap of ’79. His lordship, in short, was pressed for cash, depressed in spirits, and impressed with the utter emptiness of earthly effort. Ohiefest among his difficulties was his inability to meet his training expenses, which had been piling up since March, and amounted to nearly £3.000. He had tried every method of satisfying his trainer without actually sending him a cheque, and little Brajne, who had exhausted ' ery other method of obtaining payment, at length placed the matter in the hands of his solicitor. * Moreover, he had shown his annoyance by send ing his patron only such in form a ion about his horses as couid be of no possible use to him, and as he was empowered to make the entries for the -horses, Bertie was absolutely helpless. Brayne wrote his employer that Timbuctoo was well fur the Teddington Handicap, and dertie backed it for £lOO. 1 he horse finished fourth. Brayne respectfully informed him that Lily Lass and Wishing Gate were well for two selling races at Epsom. Bertie was afraid to back them, and wired him to Epsom not to run them ; but as Brayne did not go to Epsom with the horses he did not receive the telegram. Lily Lass and Wishing Gate started hot favorites, won their respective races with ease, and were afterwards put up for auction and disposed of. When The Lumberer, one of his best handicap horses, became favorite for the Midland G and Cup, Bertie made another affort to change his run of ill-luck. The Lumberer got left at the post, and only beat Mr Coventry on a piebald hack by a matter of two lengths. Meanwhile the breach between owner and trainer widened. Brayne’s solicitor chipped in with spirit, and his lordship only entered an appearance to the inevitable writ in order to gain time. His only chance of raising the money was represented by the chance that The Lumberer possessed of pulling off the Littlebury Autumn Handicap. The horse, according to Brayne’s letter, was well, and at 7st 71b he had nothing to complain of in the matter of weight; but he did not travel like a genuine candidate in the market, and at 33 to 1 he was absolutely friendless. “ If he’s fit and spinning, and I know it, I can bet to win a small fortune,” said his lordship, in summing up the situation ; “ while if he’s fit and spinning, and I don’t know it, Brayne and his pals will work a starting price coup, and make the fortune instead of me.” As he put the matter thus intelligibly I was struck with a brilliant idea. “ Then all you have to do is to ascertain if Brayne means business,” I replied. “ Quite so,” assented hie lordship. “ That is precisely what I want you to do for me.” “ But, my dear fellow,” I gasped, “ I can’t do it. You know perfectly well that I can’t distinguish between a racehorse and a radish.” “Nobody asked you to. All I want you to do is to catch the ten o’clock train to Brantham tomorrow morning ; go to the Old Swan Inn, where

you will meet Teddy Cox, Brayne’s head lad; ascertain from him if The Lumberer is good goods; and send me a wire to the Posthorn Hotel at Littlebury. I shall go to Littlebury to-night, and so avoid Brayne and his friends, who will travel down to-morrow.”

“ But I don’t know Teddy Cox,” I urged, “and he doesn’t know me.” “ That don’t matter, either. I have written to his mother, who was the wife of the stud-groom at Marlow Hatch when I was a boy, and have instructed her to tell Teddy to meet you at the Old Swan at twelve o’clock to-morrow. He’ll spot you all right, and he’ll tell you the truth. Give him this five-pound note, and ask him if I’m to bet. That’s all. Will you go ? ” I said “ Yes,” and he used several strings of assorted swear words to express his gratitude.

It was a little after twelve o’clock next day when the train dropped me at B'-antham, and I made my way to the Swann Inn, which was conveniently situated just outside the station. There was only one man in the bar when I entered, and by his clean-shaven face, piercing grey eyes, and slight but well set-up figure, I knew him to be the person I was in search of. He glanced at me suspiciously, but betrayed no signs of recognition. I wished him good-day, which he returned civilly enough, and, finishing his beer, he rinsed out his pewter with the heeltap preparatory to having it replenished at my expense. When the landlord turned away to execute the order, I put my mouth close to Teddy’s ear and whispered, softly, “ What about the Lumberer ?” Teddy Cox jumped at the suddenness of the question ; then he looked at me again, and a gleam of recognition came into his little eyes. “ Sech I ” I hissed, as the landlord returned ;

“ can’t we go somewhere ana talk for a minute privately ? ” “Certainly,” he said, picking up his pewter. “ Come into the parlour.” He showed me into a small room behind the bar and closed the door behind us.

“ That’s better ” I said. “ Now we can speak more plainly. You know what I’ve come for! Mother pretty well, I hope ? ” “ Nicely, thank’ee. But I didn’t know you were coming down by yourself. Why, the boss went to town this morninn to meet you.” “ The deuce he did !” I replied. “ Well, I’m glad I missed him. His lordship will probably meet him at Littlebury, and he’ll find that it isn’t so easy to put his master away ’as he imagines. What do you think ? ” I produced the five pound note, which Teddy accepted as a matter of course. “ That’s enough to begin with,” he said, with a knowing wink. “ You can keep your watch and chain, and your underlinen.” I smiled in recognition of Teddy’s sense of humour, and, dropping my voice, continued : “All I want to know is—is he fit and spinning, and can his lordship bet ? Tell me the gospel truth, my boy, and you may yet live to see his lordship’s four-in-hand driving round Marlow Hatch.” •‘That’s all I’m Jiving for,” Teddy ejaculated, solemnly; “ and if the truth can help it, I can tell you that he’s as fit as a fighting cock, and as for spinning, there ain’t a teetotum in England as can spin like him. His lordship can bet till he fair aches with it. I can’t say fairer, can I ? Now what are you going to do ? ” he demanded, in a different tone, as I stood up and looked at my watch.

“Don’t be a fool, boy!”i,T eaid, crossly. “ What’s the good of the information to me ? Where is the telegraph office ? ” “ There’s one at the station. I’ll come with you, if you’ll allow me.” We went over to the station, Teddy keeping close by my side, and he smiled again in an idiotic way when I sent off the following telegram : — “ Marlow, Posthorn Hotel. Littlebury. Fit and spinning. lou can bet till you ache. Charley.”

“ That’s all right,” said Teddy, when the message had been handed in. “ Now, you’d better come up to my place and have a bit of lunch. There isn’t a train for two hours, and mother will be glad to see you and have a talk about Oolney Hatch, or whatever you call it.” I didn’t much relish the prospect, but as there was nothing else to do, I accepted the invitation. Teddy chartered an old four-wheelerj the only vehicle in the station-yard, aud helped me in. “ Met a friend ? ’’ asked the driver, with a grin, and Teddy replied : “ Rather; met his lordship wandering about trying to find his mother.” Teddy was evidently throwing the cabby off the scent of my real object in being in Brantham, and I silently commended his prudence. At the end of a ten minute’s drive we passed between a pair of substantial iron gates that were thrown open to let us through, and drew up before a large old-fashioned square house. My companion jumped out, and, linking his arm through mine, rang the bell. A hard-featured woman in nurse’s costume opened the door, and Teddy led me through the hall into a room btyound. “ You wait here a few minutes,” he said, “and I’ll send mother to you.” As the door closed behind him I heard the key turn in the lock.”

“ Well, of all the idiots ! ” I muttered, as I went to the coor and turned the handle. The door

“ I’m going to send a telegram to his lordship first, and return to town as soon afterwards as I can catch a train.” “ Oh! look here,” protested Teddy, “ you needn’t send a telegram. I only told you this for your own information, you know.” was locked sure enough, and a hasty examination of the windows showed me that they were locked also, and were securely guarded by iron bars. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to swear, but I found a bell rope and pulled it violently. At the fourth attempt another middle-aged woman appeared, followed by a man dressed like a police inspector, who took up his stand just inside the door. “ May I inquire, madame,” I said, with exaggerated politeness, “ whom I have the honor of addressing ? ” “ I’m the matron, sir; can I do anything for jou ? ” This reply was a staggerer, but I managed to blurt out — “ Then what in the name of all that’s balmy is this place ? ” “ Brantham Lunatic Asylum, sir. Can 1 do anything for you ?” “Do!” I yelled. “Yes; allow me to leave this place at once.” “ Very sorry, sir,” replied the imperturbable matron—“ can ( t do that, sir. You must wait until the doctor comes back at three o’clock.” “ But, my good woman, this is a ridiculous mistake. You don’t take me for a lunatic, do you ? For Heaven’s sake, let me explain.” I explained the situation as coherently an I could, but the matron remained unmoved. I pleaded, threatened, and finally made a rush for

was backing The Lumberer for all he was worth on the word of a lunatic asylum attendant! My brain reeled as I thought upon it, and the perspiration ran down my body and trickled into my boots.

About 2 o’clock another police inspector brought in lunch, consisting of a pile of sandwiches and some ale in a pewter mug. I lowered the latter at one draught, while my attendant stowed away the sandwiches at his leisure. The next hour seemed interminable, but it wore its If aw >y at last, and a clock in the building was loudly ■•aiming three when a carriage rolled up to t >e front door.

“ That’s the doetor,” said the police i speetor, as he brushed the crumbs from his beard aud straightened himself in his chair. There was a sound of people talking in the hall, a pause, more voices of speaking together, and then an oath as the doctor burst into the room, followed by the matron and Teddy Cox. By this time I was too utterly crushed and dejected to swear! I thought mournfully of Bertie’s ruin and rage; and I listened to the doctor’s deluge of explanations, apologies, and commiserations like a man in a dream. I bucked up a bit when he turned on Teddy and his mother, and forcibly expressed his low opinion of their combined intellects ; but it was nothing to what Bertie could have done if he had been there. The doctor turned from them to me, followed me through the hall to where his cab stood waiting, and was still apologizing when we drove out of the iron gates. Half our brief journey was accomplished when my wandering gaze was arrested by an object that drove the iron a further couple of inches into my soul. It was an ordinary, undistinguished country pub, but on its creaking sign-board were blazoned [the key-words of the mystery : “Ye Old Swan Inn.” I realised then for the first time

the door.’ In an instant the police arms were around me, and the matron left us, closing the door behind her. Then I turned my attention to my captor; but if the matron was unimprestionable, the man was adamant. He refused to answer my questions, and wouldn’t listen to my agonizing appeal to be allowed to send a telegram. The situation was awful. There was I pacing a comfortably-furnished cell with a warder watching my every movement, and with no chance of getting away till 3 o’clock, if then, while, miles away, at Littlebury, Lord Marlow that the accursed village was rendered infamous by the possession of two Swan Inns, and that I had met my doom in the wrong one. I caught a train at Brantham Station, and at Reading the evening broadsheets were boldly announcing the “ Littlebury Handicap Result.” Sick at heart, I bought a paper, and with trembling fingers turned to page 3. Then I set up a shout that Teddy Cox might have heard at Brantham as I read : — “The Lumberer (9 2) Robinson 1.” On the morning after this adventure I received a note from Lord Bertie. It was short and to the point—- “ Enclosed with everlasting gratitude." The enclosed was a cheque for £250, dated forward to the following Monday. I sent a fiver to “ Teddy Cox” and another to the disobliging police inspector, and so convinced them beyond all doubt that the man they captured and the doctor was so anxious to get rid of was as hopeless an imbecile as any certified inmate of Brantham Asylum.