Meantime the Honourable Crasher, in the last stage of exhaustion, was endeavouring to discover which of his horses Tiptop would let him ride on the morrow. The fixture was at a capital place, with the Pytchley, and promised a large field. Notwithstanding his _insouciance_, the Honourable C. could not but feel that he should like something both safe and fast, if, as was more than possible, he would have to ride for his life during the first few minutes. “Tiptop,” said his master, raising himself from his seat on the corn-bin, and taking the cigar from his lips, “Tiptop, as they’re all pretty fit, you may send on Catamount and Confidence to-morrow.” “Catamount’s hardly got over his physic yet, and I’m keeping Confidence for you on Thursday,” replied the master of the horse. “Well, then, the mare and old Plantagenet?” urged the Honourable. “I can ride Plantagenet first, and send him home by two o’clock.” “The mare’s had a gallop this morning, and we wants Plantagenet second ’oss for Friday,” objected Mr. Tiptop. “Well, then, Life Boat,” pleaded the proprietor. “I haven’t had a ride on Life Boat this season. And, let me see, the Banker would do very well for second.” “I thought of Topsy-Turvy and Chance,” enunciated Mr. Tiptop, somewhat imperiously; and the Honourable’s face lengthened considerably at the announcement. To do him justice, he was one of those sportsmen so well described in the old Cheshire hunting-song— “To whom nought comes amiss— One horse or another, that country or this; Who through falls and bad starts undauntedly still Ride up to the motto—_Be with them I will!_” But Bellerophon himself was mortal, and Topsy-Turvy was a _very_ awkward mare to ride in a crowd. With great pace and jumping powers she had all the irritability of her high-born race, and more than all the jealousy of her sex. Horses in her rear annoyed her—alongside, or in front, they drove her mad: so she was never thoroughly comfortable, unless sailing away by herself with the hounds—a place, it is only fair to add, that she was quite capable of keeping. Chance, by Gamester out of Happy-go-lucky, was no safer a mount. Just out of training, she went nevertheless at her fences with considerable audacity; but was prone to over-jump herself when she didn’t run through them. As Struggles observed of her, “It was a safe bet to lay five to two on the Caster.”