Part 16 (1/2)

As a fiddle--s.h.i.+nes like a mirror--not an ounce too much or too little. He'll romp in!

GEORGIANA.

He'll dance in! Tris Mardon!

SIR TRISTRAM.

Eh?

GEORGIANA.

[_Mysteriously._] Tris, Dandy d.i.c.k doesn't belong to you--not _all_ of him.

SIR TRISTRAM.

No--I've only a half share. At your sale he was knocked down to John Fielder the trainer. The other half belongs to John.

GEORGIANA.

No, it doesn't, it belongs to _me!_

SIR TRISTRAM.

George!

GEORGIANA.

Yes, directly I saw Dandy d.i.c.k marched out before the auctioneer I asked John Fielder to help me, and he did, like a Briton. For I can't live without horseflesh, if it's only a piece of cat's meat on a skewer. But when I condescended to keep company with the Canons and the Bishop here I promised Augustin that I wouldn't own anything on four legs, so John sold you half of d.i.c.k, and I can swear I don't own a horse--and I don't--not a whole one. But half a horse is better than no bread, Tris--and we're partners.

SIR TRISTRAM.

[_Roaring with laughter._] Ho! ho! ha! ha! ha!

GEORGIANA.

What are you laughing at, man?

SIR TRISTRAM.

Oh, the Dean! the Dean!

_SALOME and SHEBA enter unperceived._

SIR TRISTRAM.

[_Still laughing._] I--ho! ho!--I beg your pardon, George--ha! ha!

Well, now you know he's fit, of course, you're going to back Dandy d.i.c.k for the Durnstone Handicap.

GEORGIANA.