There they are, hard at it--_Nobblers_ and noblemen--grooms and gentlemen--betting-house keepers and cavalry officers--all talking at once, all intent on having the best of it, and apparently all layers and no takers. “Eight to one agin Lady Lavender,” says a stout capitalist, who looks like a grazier in his best clothes. “Take ten,” lisps the owner, a young gentleman, apparently about sixteen. “I’ll back Sober John.” “I’ll take nine to two about the Fox.” “I’ll lay against the field _bar three_.” “I’ll lay five ponies to two _agin_ Haphazard!” vociferates the capitalist. “Done!” cries Charlie, who is investing on his horse as if he owned the Bank of England. At this moment Frank Hardingstone pierces into the ring, and drawing Charlie towards the outskirts, begins to lecture him on the coming struggle, and to give him useful hints on the art of riding a steeple-chase; for Frank with his usual decision has resolved not to go into the stand to talk to Blanche till he has done all in his power to insure the success of her cousin. “Come and see the horse saddled, you conceited young jackanapes; don’t fool away any more money; how do you know you’ll win?” says Frank, taking the excited jockey by the arm and leading him away to where Haphazard, pawing and snorting, and very uneasy, is being stripped of his clothing, the centre of an admiring throng. “I know he can beat Lady Lavender,” replies Charlie, whose conversation for the last week had been strictly “Newmarket”; “and he’s five pounds better than the Fox; and Mohair is sure to make a mess of it with Bendigo--he owns he can’t ride him; and there’s nothing else has a chance except Sober John, a great half-bred brute!” “Do you see that quiet-looking man talking to Jason there?” says Frank; “that’s the man who is to ride Sober John--about the best _gentleman_ in England, and he’s getting a hint from the best _professional_. Do you think _you_ can ride like Captain Rocket? Now, take my advice, Charlie, Haphazard is a nice-tempered horse, you _wait_ on Sober John--keep close behind him--ride over him if he falls--but whatever you see Captain Rocket do, _you do the same_--don’t _come_ till you’re safe over the last fence--and if you’re not first, you’ll be second!” Charlie promised faithfully to obey his friend’s directions, though in his own mind he did not think it possible an _Infantry_ horse could win the great event--Sober John, if he belonged to any one in particular, being the property of Lieutenant Sharpes of the Old Hundredth, who stood to win a very comfortable sum upon the veteran steeple-chaser.