For myself, I distinctly intended to go to the races, seeing that I was past the age at which my uncle feared their contagion; though neither was I old enough to plead the principle which he had so astutely paraded on his own account. And so I went. Ronald had left the house soon after breakfast—for a ride (he said)—and, as I saw nothing of him on the racecourse, I was comfortable in the belief that for once he had obeyed orders. When the races were nearly over, a little stable boy came up to me and touched his cap: “Hold your horse, sir?” By Jove, it was Ronald. He had borrowed Dick the groom’s livery, and had had a fine time of it, he told me, in that unconventional attire. Just then our uncle rode up. “Now stand away, Fred, and don’t be seen talking to me, and I’ll show you some rare sport.” “Hold your horse, sir?”—this to our uncle. “Well, I don’t mind if you do, and I’ll have a stroll with Fred here till it’s time to go home.” After a lounge along the course, chatting with friends and criticising the horses, we came back to where we left Ronald. “Thanks,” said the uncle, as he re-mounted, “here’s a shilling for you. A lucky dog you are, too, for it’s got a hole in it, I see. Good-day.” When dinner was over that evening, the uncle waxed genial over a bottle of ’75 Margaux. “We’d a capital day’s racing, Ronald. I’m almost sorry you weren’t with us. Next year, all well, my boy, I’ll take you myself.” “Thanks, sir”—and he winked the third time. “By the way, you haven’t lost a shilling, sir, have you? I picked up this one while you were at the races. You’re a lucky dog, sir, if it does belong to you, for it’s got a hole in it?” Verdict: _Acquitted_, _but don’t do it again_. On the Sands BROADWATER was fearfully dull on a Sunday, so I came over from Bayview where I was staying, that Ronald and I might help each other in getting through the day. It was a blazing afternoon in August, and the park, shut in by hills, shimmered in a haze of heat. “I can’t stand this,” said Ronald. “Air I must get somehow, and, as it’s not to be got nearer than the sea, we’ll walk to the shore in search of it. It’s rather hard on you, to be sure, who’ve done the walk once already. But it’s better than lounging about here, where it’s too hot to speak or think; and, at any rate, we shall see the trippers.” It happened, most unluckily, that just as we reached the pier, an open air service had begun. Of course they had chosen the hottest corner possible for it; a nook sheltered by the masonry of the pier, which carefully excluded every breath of wind that might be travelling to us from the sea. But, despite the heat, it was a temptation to mild excitement that Ronald found it impossible to resist.