“Well--I’ve been at Clancy’s this fifteen years. I see you can ride, sir,” he continued confidentially. “So I’ve no shame or fear in telling you, that that horse requires a power of humouring. I’ve never walked straight since the last time he got shut of me. We are not sorry to part with him; he has a desperate trick of bolting, and for nothing at all! When you are just walking innocently along the road, he is away with you. He has a terrible bad name, and that’s why ye got him chape; they does be all in dread of him! But there is just wan resource, for a man with nerve, and I’ll tell it to you. Pretend you _like_ it--I never could--and that will cure him. When he bolts with hounds (as in course he always does), and mostly lames a couple of dogs, stick in the spurs, and lam into him with a _new_ ashplant, until he is fit to drop, just give him his head, _and_ the stick: he could not fall if he tried, and when ye feel him under you, just devouring the ground, and greedy to be airing himself over an eighteen foot gripe and double, ye would not grudge three hundred sovereigns; he is a chaser, that’s what _he is_, and invaluable to a stout rider, a bold man like yourself--but many and many’s the time I thought he would make a ghost of _me_.” “And have you lost your nerve?” “Between ourselves, sir,” lowering his voice, “I have; I haven’t a pinch left. I’ve scarcely a whole bone in me skin. I was first a riding boy, and then a jock, and then a breaker-in, and I have had some extraordinary bad falls. Well, sir, since you _are_ so pressing, I’ll take just another tinte of whisky, and wishing long life and good luck to your honour, and many a good day on the grey,” and so somewhat unsteadily departed. CHAPTER X. BETTY MAKES TWO CONQUESTS. Shortly after his purchase of “Scatter Brains,” Mr. Holroyd appeared at a popular meet of the Harriers, got up in unimpeachable boots and breeches, but somewhat spoiling the effect, by carrying the prescribed ashplant. He and his mount were critically scanned by the sporting community--who sat ranged along the top of a low wall, bordering the road, and subsequently pursued on foot. The grey horse was unanimously approved of, “passed,” and pronounced to be a grand one and a goer, and invidious comparisons were audibly drawn between him and an old “Stageen,” on which another gentleman was mounted. All at once, a shrill gossoon exclaimed, as if announcing a most portentous discovery: “I have it, boys! May I never ate, bite, or sup, if it isn’t Clancy’s grey.” “Clancy’s grey,” echoed another voice, “that he has been striving to sell this two year and more! Oh, the poor, innocent, young English officer!” then in a louder key to George, “Don’t be riding _too_ far from a churchyard, yer honour!” “Is there a doctor out the day?” enquired a third pleasantly. “Mother av Moses! why didn’t ye bring your coffin with ye?”