This last item, however, in his outlay, suggested to him a method by which he might combine fame with money-making, and, if Fortune stood his friend, have his season almost for nothing. The chestnut five-year-old, whom, out of compliment to Miss Dove, he had resolved to call “Wood-Pigeon,” was really a good nag. He was a quick and fine fencer, could gallop fast, and _go on_. Altogether, Mr. Varnish was not beyond the mark when he described him to the purchaser as adapted for “safety, punctuality, and dispatch.” Why not put him into this steeple-chase they made such a fuss about, win a hatful of money in stakes, bets, &c., to say nothing of the “honour and glory,” and then sell the whole stud, and retire upon his laurels? Should Fortune smile, and land him first past the post, it would be the proudest day of his life; and even in the event of failure, why, “If doughty deeds my lady please,” &c.; and Miss Dove could not but look upon him with a more favourable eye, when he had worn her colours in the race. Old Isaac must be taken into consultation. For the first time, his master rather shunned the glance of that keen, hard eye. He walked into the stable one evening, after hunting, and began to sound his servant on the important position. “By the by, Isaac,” said he, in an off-hand tone, “they’re talking of a steeple-chase here. Only amongst the gentlemen, you know; we sha’n’t want much training. I think I should have a fair chance with Wood-Pigeon?” Isaac shook his head. “Well, sir,” said he, “_you_ know best. Who’s to ride?” “Oh, I should ride him myself, of course,” replied his master, with a toss of the head that as much as said, “With such a jockey, he’s sure to win.” “Ride him myself, and do all I _know_, you may depend,” he added facetiously. Old Isaac reflected. “Have you ever ridden a steeple-chase?” he asked, after a moment’s consideration. Mr. Sawyer was obliged to admit that he never had. “Well, then, _I have_,” said the groom. “You don’t know what it is. Such a blazin’ pace through the fields! and such an owdacious scuffle at the fences! Nothin’ but a professional can keep his head at that work; and _he_ often gets it broke. Better not try it, master: better let it alone. They’ll only make a fool of ye.” Mr. Sawyer waxed indignant. “That’s my business,” said he; “yours is to get the horse fit. I tell you I’ve entered him—Wood-Pigeon by Wapiti. He’ll be first favourite the day of the race. Do you hear? I depend upon you to get him thoroughly fit.” Isaac scratched his head. “Fit!” he repeated. “Yes—I’ll get the _horse_ fit: you get the _rider_. If you _must_ have a turn at it, take my advice, master. You get yourself in good wind; keep your head clear; jump off at the moment the flag drops; never let his head go; and, above all, _sit still_.” After this, Isaac could never again be brought to open his mouth on the subject. ------------------------------------------------------------------------