Mr. Tiptop and old Isaac are barely on speaking terms.
Presently, a heavier shower than any of its predecessors sweeps across the scene; and the only steward who can be got to attend, not seeing the fun of waiting any longer, has given the gentlemen-riders a hint that, if they are not mounted and ready in ten minutes, he will go home to luncheon. The threat creates considerable confusion and dismay. “Lend me a fourteen-pound saddle!” exclaims one; “Where are my girths?” shouts another; “I can’t ride him without a martingale!” groans a third; “Where’s my whip? and has any one seen my horse?” asks a fourth: and, for a time, things look less like a start than before. Nevertheless, the steward is known to be a man of his word; and his announcement produces the desired effect at last.
Let us take advantage of Parson Dove’s kind offer, and, placing ourselves on the box of his carriage, abstract our attention from his pretty daughter inside, and take a good view of the proceedings.
A preliminary gallop, in the wind’s eye, with a sharp sleet driving in their faces, prepares the heroes for their agreeable task. Flags mark out the extent and the direction of “danger’s dark career.” Starting in this large grass-field, they jump a hedge and ditch into yonder less extensive pasture, fenced by double posts and rails, which, successfully negotiated, brings them, after a succession of fair hunting leaps, to The Brook. Fourteen feet of water is a tolerable effort for a horse, everywhere but in print; and as the weather will probably have wet the jockeys through before they arrive at this obstacle, it matters little whether they go in or over. After that, the fences are larger and more dangerous, an exceedingly awkward “double” enclosing the next field but one to the run-in.
The Parson thinks the ground injudiciously selected. As he had no voice in the matter, it is as well to agree with him. Mrs. Dove’s attention is a little distracted by the hamper with the luncheon; and Cissy hopes fervently that “nobody will be hurt.”
Let us count the starters. One, two, three, four, five, six. Mr. Crasher’s Chance, blue, and white sleeves (owner); Major Brush’s Down-upon-’em, “gorge de pigeon,” crimson cap (owner); Mr. Savage’s Luxury, scarlet, and black cap (Mr. Stripes); Mr. Brown’s Egg-Flip, white (owner); Mr. Green’s Comedy, by Comus, black and all black (Mr. Snooks); and lastly, Mr. Sawyer’s Wood-Pigeon, plum-colour, and blue cap (owner).