"I mean," he stammered, "I mean that my being entered so late in the
day--the fees might be made proportionately heavier--double them if
need be--I should none the less be--be inestimably indebted to you;
indeed I--I cannot tell you--" Now as Barnabas broke off, the
Marquis smiled and reached out his hand--a languid-seeming hand,
slim and delicate, yet by no means languid of grip.
"My dear Beverley," said he, "I like your earnestness. A
race--especially this one--is a doocid serious thing; for some of us,
perhaps, even more serious than we bargain for. It's going to be a
punishing race from start to finish, a test of endurance for horse
and man, over the worst imaginable country. It originated in a match
between Devenham on his 'Moonraker' and myself on 'Clinker,' but
Sling here was hot to match his 'Rascal,' and Carnaby fancied his
'Clasher,' and begad! applications came so fast that we had a field
in no time."
"Good fellows and sportsmen all!" nodded the Captain. "Gentlemen
riders--no tag-rag, gamest of the game, sir."
"Now, as to yourself, my dear Beverley," continued the Marquis
authoritatively, "you 're doocid late, y' know; but then--"
"He can ride," said the Viscount.
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