Part 14 (2/2)

He was an old and much-respected friend of the Baron, and that says a great deal for him; for if anybody in the world could understand a _man_, it was Baron Martin. Whether it was the Prime Minister or the unhappy thief in the dock, he knew all cla.s.ses and all degrees of criminality. He was not poetical with regard to landscapes, for if one were pointed out to him by some proprietor of a lordly estate, he would say, ”Yes, a vera fine place indeed; and I would have the winning-post _there_!”

The old fox and Harry Hill! The two characters at Tattersall's in those days can never be forgotten, by those who knew them.

It may seem strange in these more enlightened days that at that time I was under the impression that no one could make a bet unless he had the means of paying if he lost. This statement will provoke a smile, but it is true. The consequence was that I was debarred from speculating where I thought I had a most excellent chance of winning, having been brought up to believe that the world was almost dest.i.tute of fraud--a strange and almost unaccountable idea which only time and experience proved to be erroneous. Judge of the vast unexplored field of discovery that lay before me! Harry Hill was better informed. He had lived longer, and had been brought in contact with the cleverest men of the age. He knew at a glance the adventurous fool who staked his last chance when the odds were a hundred to one, and also the man of honour who staked his life on his honesty--and sometimes _lost_!

There were ”blacklegs” in those days who looked out for such honest gentlemen, and _won_--scoundrels who degrade sport, and trade successfully on the reputations of men of honour. You cannot cope with these; honesty cannot compete with fraud either in sport or trade.

It was a very brief Sunday sermon which Harry preached to me this afternoon, but it was an effective one, and out of the abundance of his good nature he gave me these well-remembered words of friendly warning,--

”Mr. Hawkins, I see you come here pretty regularly on Sunday afternoons; but I advise you not to speculate amongst us, for if you do we shall beat you. We know our business better than you do, and you'll get nothing out of us any more than we should get out of you if we were to dabble in your law, for you know _that_ business better than we do.”

This disinterested advice I took to heart, and treated it as a warning. I thanked Mr. Hill, promised to take advantage of his kindness, and kept my word during the whole time that Tattersall's remained in the old locality, which it did for a considerable period.

The establishment at this time was at Hyde Park Corner, and had been rented from Lord Grosvenor since 1766. It was used for the purpose of selling thoroughbreds and other horses of a first-rate order, until the expiration of the lease, which was, I think, in 1865. It was then removed to Knightsbridge, where I still continued my visits.

The new premises, or, as it might be called, the new inst.i.tution, was inaugurated with a grand dinner, chiefly attended by members of the sporting world, including Admiral Rous, George Payne, and many other well-known and popular patrons of our national sport. There were also a great many who were known as ”swells,” people who took a lively interest in racing affairs, and others who belonged to the literary and artistic world, and enjoyed the national sports as well. It was a large a.s.sembly, and if any persons can enjoy a good dinner and lively conversation, it is those who take an interest in sport. Mixed as the company might be, it was uniform in its object, which was to be happy as well as jolly.

That I should have been asked to be present on this historic occasion was extremely gratifying, but I could find no reason for the honour conferred upon me, except that it 'might be because I had always endeavoured to make myself agreeable--a faculty, if it be a faculty, most invaluable in all the relations and circ.u.mstances of life. I was flattered by the compliment, because in reality I was the guest of all the really great men of the day.

But a still more striking honour was in store. I was called upon to respond for somebody or something; I don't remember what it was to this day, nor had I the faintest notion what I ought to say. I was perfectly bewildered, and the first utterance caused a roar of laughter. I did not at that time know the reason. It is of no consequence whether you know what you are talking about in an after-dinner speech or not, for say what you may, hardly anybody listens, and if they do few will understand the drift of your observations. You get a great deal of applause when you stand up, and a great deal more when you sit down. I seemed to catch my audience quite accidentally by using a word tabooed at that time in sporting circles, because it represented the blacklegs of the racecourse, and was used as a nickname for rascaldom. ”Gentlemen,” I said, ”I have been unexpectedly called upon my _legs_--” Then I stammered an apology for using the word in that company, and the laughter was unbounded.

Next morning all the sporting papers reported it as an excellent joke, although the last person who saw the joke was myself.

After dinner we adjourned to the new premises, which included a betting-room, since christened ”place,” by interpretation of a particular statute by myself and others. Oh the castigation I received from the Jockey Club on that account! Whether the monitory fox was anywhere within the precincts I do not know, but I missed him at that time, and attributed to his absence the lapse from virtue which undermined my previous resolution, and in a moment undid the merits of exemplary years. However, it brought me to myself, and was, after all, a ”blessing in disguise”--and pleasant to think of.

We were in the betting-room, and there was Harry Hill, my genial old friend, who had advised me to take care, and never to bet, ”because we know our business better than you do.” Alas! amidst the hubbub and excitement, to say nothing of the joviality of everybody and the excellence of the champagne, I said in a brave tone,--

”Come now, Mr. Hill, I _must_ have a bet, on the opening of the new Tattersalls. I will give you evens for a fiver on ---- for the Derby!”

Alas! my friend, who _ought_ to have known better, forgot the good advice he had given me only a few years before, and I, heedless of consequences in my hilarity, repeated the offer of evens on the _favourite_.

”Done!” said two or three, and amongst them Hill. I might have repeated the offer and accepted the bet over and over again, so popular was it. ”Done, done, done!” everywhere.

But Hill was the man for my money, and he had it. Before morning the _favourite was scratched_!

It was the race which Hermit won! Poor Hastings lost heavily and died soon after. I had backed the wrong horse, and have never ceased to wonder how I could have been so foolish. ”Let me advise you not to speculate amongst us,” were Hill's words, ”for if you do we shall beat you;” and it cost me five pounds to learn that. A lawyer's opinion may be worth what is paid for it in a case stated; but of the soundness of of a horse's wind, or the thousand and one ailments to which that animal's flesh and blood are heir, I knew nothing--not so much as the little boy who runs and fetches in the stable, and who could give the ablest lawyer in Great Britain or Ireland odds on any particular favourite's ”public form” and beat him.

Put not your trust in tipsters; they no more knew that Hermit had a chance for the Derby than they could foretell the snowstorm that was coming to enable him to win it.

This was the last bet I ever made; and I owe my abandonment of the practice to Harry Hill, who gave me excellent advice and enforced it by example.

CHAPTER XVI.

ARISING OUT OF THE ”ORSINI AFFAIR.”

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