“He _is_ awful hard upon ’em—that’s the truth,” continued the narrator. “It was only last week he says to me, ‘Tiptop,’ says he—_my_ name’s Tiptop—‘what made Boadicea’ (that’s our bay mare by Bellerophon out of Blue Light)—‘what made Boadicea stop with me under Carlton Clump to-day? Either she wasn’t fit,’ says he, ‘or she isn’t worth five shillings.’ ‘Well, sir,’ says I, ‘the mare’s a gross feeder,’ says I, ‘and you ride with _rayther_ a slack rein.’ ‘slack rein be hanged!’ says he. ‘If ever such a thing happens again, you’ll get the sack,’ says he. So I up and told him I was ready to go whenever he could replace me; and the upshot of it was as he apologised quite like a gentleman; for, indeed, he wouldn’t know whatever to do without me. He’s a good man—my governor—enough; but he’s hasty—very hasty. Why, to see him coming over a gate into the turnpike-road, as I did t’other day, on Catamount—that’s our chestnut, as ran fourth for the Liverpool—you’d say he’d no discretion whatever; but they’ve all got their faults—all on ’em. What’s yours? Can he ride?” Discreet Isaac answered with a counter-question. “What’s your governor’s name?” said he, peeping once more into the waning pewter measure. “The Honourable Crasher,” replied Mr. Tiptop, not without an air of exultation. “A brother he is to the Hearl of Heligoland. Now I’ve told _you_ all about it, old bloke. There—you ease your mind in return, and give us _your_ name.” “I’ll let you know when I’ve seen the register,” answered Isaac. “But it’s a long way to the parish as owes me a settlement; and I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, Mr. Tiptop, till I can communicate with you by post.” Saying which Isaac finished the flip at a gulp, and walked off to seven-o’clock stables without uttering another word. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER V “BOOTS AND SADDLES” LONDON is in the way to everywhere. I have an old friend,—an honest Lincolnshire squire,—who, paying his sister a visit in Norfolk, always goes and returns by London. I do not think it is necessary to traverse Oxford Street in order to proceed from the Old Country to Market Harborough; and yet on the day that witnessed his faithful groom’s introduction to Mr. Tiptop, John Standish Sawyer might have been, and indeed _was_, seen crossing that crowded thoroughfare, with hasty steps and air of considerable preoccupation.