Volume Ii Part 19 (2/2)
They were attacked, and such extravagant sums laid against them that astonished every one, many of which odds were booked by Lord Plunger and a few others.
How this came about we will now explain. Lord Plunger, as before stated, thought George Bradon ”the finest cross-country rider in Europe,” and from a letter which Bradon sent in confidence to his lords.h.i.+p, he started for France. Here Bradon put him up to what was going on, and asked him to take some of the heavy odds offered against Guardsman ”to win and a place.”
”I won't have anything to do with it myself,” remarked George. ”You are a betting-man, Plunger, which I am not; but I will have one more shy, hit or miss. This will be my last appearance in public in the pigskin.
I don't admire the way in which matters are carried on in the racing world now; and I am not going to risk my fortune and reputation in having any more to do with it. Of course there are honest people connected with it, but they--like angels' visits--are few and far between; and besides, I know nothing of betting, but this I feel sure of, that such a horse as mine has not been out for years.”
”That,” said his lords.h.i.+p, ”I am quite certain of, or you would not run him, and you are too good a judge to be deceived. You may depend on my doing all you wish. I shall be as silent as death on the subject, and not a word shall escape me. Let me see”--consulting his note-book--”I am to go as far as five hundred for you; that ought to win you a handsome sum. I shall go as far for myself. You are to come to me four days before the Silverpool, and I am to take you there in the drag.
That is the order of march, is it not?”
”Exactly,” said George. ”Now let's have a cigar--you have plenty of time before you start. If you have any luck you will be sitting _chez vous_ to-morrow evening.”
It turned out as his friend predicted. The following evening Lord Plunger was comfortably lolling in his arm chair, thinking what a clever fellow Bradon was, and how secretly his own journey to France had been managed. This then was the reason Lord Plunger had taken some of the extravagant long odds that had been laid against Bradon's horse.
The morning of the Grand Silverpool broke bright and beautiful; though there had been a good deal of rain during the night, it had cleared off, and the day promised to be all that could be desired.
Bradon and Lord Plunger sat at breakfast in a quiet little country hotel some ten miles from the course.
”Well, George,” said his lords.h.i.+p, ”so far, I think we have managed things admirably, not a soul knows of your being in England. They fondly imagine you are roaming about the Continent, and, to crown all, a rumour has got about that your horses will not start, and will be scratched at the last minute. It was a capital idea our coming down here last night.”
”Yes,” replied Bradon, ”it was a famous dodge; so they think the horses will be scratched, do they? Well, it strikes me they will be slightly deceived about three o'clock to-day. Nothing can be in more beautiful fettle than the nags are, and if man ever had a certainty I have one in Guardsman; although I have had no trial with him against anything else, he is, I know, a flyer, and a sticker. It will be heavy to-day, and no horse I ever rode goes better through dirt than he does. Bar accidents, I look on the Silverpool as landed.”
”Bravo, bravo, George!” said his friend; ”your heart is in the right place, and if we should pull it off, it will be one of the grandest _coups_ that has been made on the Turf for many a day. We will go in half an hour, if you like, to look at your nags. They are only three miles from this, at a quiet farmhouse; then we will return here, dress, and start at twelve in the drag.”
The horses were inspected, and nothing could look more beautiful. Tim was in his glory.
”Yes, my lord,” said he, in answer to a question put to him by that gentleman. ”I am glad to be back in the old land, not but what the Moossoos was very jolly and haffable. Still, France ain't up to my notions of a sporting country; but we was in quiet there--no touts, no interlopers, or anything. Now, if I'd a-brought the horses down here by rail, every one would have knowed it; so they came in a van. It's a little more expensive, but by far the best and safest way. Not a soul knows they are here, and no one will be aware of it till I takes them to the saddling-post. I'm just going to start with them now. I've got a couple of boxes close by the course, so you must excuse me, my lord.”
And, touching his hat, the old man disappeared.
”Whose yellow drag and grays is that coming up the course?” said one of the occupants of the lawn in front of the Grand Stand. ”I do not know it.” A dozen gla.s.ses were at once levelled at the object.
”Whose drag?” said the sly-looking little man we have alluded to before. ”Why, Lord Plunger's. George Bradon is sitting on the box seat with him, and the rest are officers of his old regiment--I know their faces.”
”By jingo!” burst out a score of voices: ”then he is in England, and come to see his horses run, or scratch them. Now we shall know something.”
”I wonder if he will be flattered when he hears the price his nags are at now?” said another.
”He will not care a rap,” said the sly-looking little man. ”Look out, my boys, there's something up, you may depend. Bradon, if his horses do go, has something pretty good, you may rely. I warned you all before.
Now, I have not laid a penny against his nags. I have let them alone--till the last minute. But here they come.”
”Hallo, Bradon!” burst out fifty voices. ”What, in England! Come to see the nags beaten?”
”Well, I do not know,” said George, shaking hands with some of them. ”I hope they will be there, or thereabouts; pretty heavy the ground to-day. My horses can stand it, which a good many of the others cannot.”
”Are your horses here?” said the sly-looking little man.
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