Love stories; New England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
While they were talking it over, Chin Chin brought up Pallid. Mr. Waddy
was going for a morning ride with Clara and Diana. There were divers
opinions on Pallid’s merits. Some of them said he was too handsome to
make time--“a good un to go should always be a bad un to look at,” and
there were instances enough on this side. There were also abundant
instances on the other. In short, no one had seen him put to his speed,
and none could do more than conjecture how low he would go down in the
seconds. A very few seconds make the great differences in horses, as
the minor, imperceptible charms distinguish between the few beautiful
and the many pretty among women. It was conceded that it was a sin
to race on the beach. “The horses’ feet will be ruined; the beach is
as hard as Macadam.” But they had determined to do it. There was an
_éclat_ about the beach that no other place could have.
Belden said that Pallid was a very fine animal--the handsomest horse
he knew--very fast, too; very fast. He was surprised that Mr. Waddy
had not entered him. Perhaps Mr. Waddy did not want to win their
money--very likely! He couldn’t know, of course, anything about the
comparative powers of the two horses, but if Pallid were in the race,
he wouldn’t fear to back his horse against him for a thousand.
“Do you mean that for an offer?” asked Major Granby, joining the group.
“I would make it one if the horse were in the race,” answered Belden.
“This is getting interesting,” said Peter Skerrett; “and just in time
here comes Dunstan, and Mr. Waddy to speak for himself.”
The boys crowded round Mr. Waddy to persuade him to enter his horse.
Guy and Clo wished to see Belden beat; he had scoffed at them for being
imberb.
“Of course,” said Mr. Waddy, “anything to please the children; but I
can’t ride him myself. I carry too much weight for a race. Pallid’s
only five. I say, Dunstan, don’t you want to ride him? You are just
my height--five feet ten--but then I outweigh you fifteen pounds--two
pounds a year for the difference in our ages.”
“I shall be delighted,” said Dunstan, “if you’ll trust me. Is there
anything on it besides the stakes?”
“That is as Mr. Belden pleases,” said Granby. “Do you hold to the
offer?”
“Certainly,” responded Belden, and the bet was booked.
“If I were betting with Belden,” said Gyas, aside to Peter Skerrett, “I
should want stakes up.”
“You would behave with your usual asinine indecorum, Guy, my boy,
if you hinted such a thing. Belden is not a man to back down. He’d
rather murder somebody and get the money. If he loses, he’ll pay. But
he don’t intend to lose. He knows his horse, and I’d advise you not
to bet against him. In fact, the best thing you and Clo can do is to
stop betting entirely and put your money in your old boots. I’ve been
talking like a father to you two for years, and you don’t improve.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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