"Rich is not the word, sir. He has more money than he knows what to do with. Why, he has twenty horses now, and is building loose-boxes for ten more, and he won't look at one under a hundred pounds. Rawlings has got a fine place, he has that." "I am surprised he should have left the kennels, though. He loses his chance of ever becoming huntsman." "He is as good as that now, sir. He had a present of fifty pounds to start with, gets as many shillings a week and all found, and has the entire management of the stables, and with a gentleman like Mr. Fortescue there'll be some nice pickings." "Very likely. But why does Mr. Fortescue want a pilot? He rides well, and his horses seem to know their business." "He won't have any as doesn't. Yes, he rides uncommon well for an aged man, does Mr. Fortescue. I suppose he wants somebody to show him the way and keep him from getting ridden over. It isn't nice to get ridden over when you're getting into years." "It isn't nice whether you are getting into years or not. But you cannot call Mr. Fortescue an old man." "You cannot call him a young 'un. He has a good many gray hairs, and them puckers under his eyes hasn't come in a day. But he has a young heart, I will say that for him. Did you see how he did that 'double' as pounded half the field?" "Yes, it was a very sporting jump. But who is Mr. Fortescue, and where does he come from?" "That is what nobody seems to know. Mr. Keyworth--he was at the kennels only yesterday--asked me the very same question. He thought Jim Rawlings might ha' told me something. But bless you, Jim knows no more than anybody else. All as he can tell is as Mr. Fortescue sometimes goes to London, that he is uncommon fond of hosses, and either rides or drives tandem nearly every day, and has ordered a slap-up four-in-hand drag. And he has got a 'boratory and no end o' chemicals and stuff, and electric machines, and all sorts o' gimcracks." "Is there a Mrs. Fortescue?" "Not as I knows on. There is not a woman in the house, except servants." "Who looks after things, then?" "Well, there's a housekeeper. But the head bottle-washer is a chap they call major-domo--a German he is. He looks after everything, and an uncommon sharp domo he is, too, Jim says. Nobody can do him a penny piece. And then there is Mr. Fortescue's body-servant; he's a dark man, with a big scar on one cheek, and rings in his ears. They call him Rumun." "Nonsense! There's no such name as Rumun." "That's what I told Jim. He said it was a rum 'un, but his name was Rumun, and no mistake." "Dark, and rings in his ears! The man is probably a Spaniard. You mean Ramon." "No, I don't; I mean Rumun," returned Tawney, doggedly. "I thought it was an uncommon rum name, and I asked Jim twice--he calls at the kennels sometimes--I asked him twice, and he said he was cock sure it was Rumun." "Rumun let it be then. Altogether, this Mr. Fortescue seems to be rather a mysterious personage."