"You were _not_ thinking about me, then?" said Edith. "Well, I can't call that a very gallant speech." "I'll lay an even bet," said Roper, "that you were thinking more about the surgeon." "Were you ever wounded, Mr Roper?" said I. "Once--in the heart, and incurably," replied the coxcomb, with a glance at Edith. "Pshaw! because, if you had been, you would scarce have ventured to select the surgeon as the subject of a joke. But I forgot. These are times of peace." "When men of peace become soldiers," retorted Roper. "I declare you are very silly!" cried Edith; "and I have a good mind to send both of you away." "Death rather than banishment!" said Roper. "Well, then, do be quiet! I take _such_ an interest in your race, Mr M'Whirter. Do you know I have two pairs of gloves upon it? So you must absolutely contrive to win. By the way, what are your colours?" "Peach-blossom and scarlet." "How very gallant! I take it quite as a compliment to myself." "M'Whirter! you're wanted," cried a voice from below. "Bless me! I suppose it is time for saddling. Farewell, Edith--farewell, Mary! I shall win if I possibly can." "Good-by!" said Roper. "Stick on tightly and screw him up, and there's no fear of Masaniello." "Where the deuce have you been, M'Whirter?" said Randolph. "Get into the scales as fast as you can. You've been keeping the whole of us waiting." "I'll back Masaniello against the field at two to one," said Anthony Whaup. "Done with you, in ponies," said Patsey Chaffinch, who was assisting his brother from the scales. "Do you feel nervous, M'Whirter?" asked Hosier, a friend who was backing me rather heavily. "You look a little white in the face." "To tell you the truth--I do." "That's awkward. Had you not better take a glass of brandy?" "Not a bad idea;" and I took it. "That's right. Now canter him about a little, and you'll soon get used to it." I shall carefully avoid having any future occasion to make use of my dear-bought experience. I felt remarkably sheepish as I rode out upon the course, and heard the observations of the crowd. "And wha's yon in the saumon-coloured jacket?" "It'll be him they ca' Chaffinch." "Na, man--yon chield wad make twa o' Chaffinch. He's but a feather-wecht o' a cratur." "Wow, Jess! but that's a bonnie horse!" "Bonnier than the man that's on it, ony how." "Think ye that's the beast they ca' Masonyellow?" "I'm thinkin' sae. That man can ride nane. He's nae grupp wi' his thees." These were the kind of remarks that met my ears as I paced along, nor, as I must confess, was I particularly elated thereby. Pounset now rode up. "Well, M'Whirter, we are to have another sort of race to-day. I half fear, from the specimen I have seen of Masaniello, that my little mare runs a poor chance; but Chaffinch will give you work for it--Groggyboy was a crack horse in his day. But come, there goes the bell, and we are wanted at the starting-post." The remainder of my story is short.