"’E ain’t much ter look at, I knows, Major," said the groom, carrying out his instructions. "But if yer ’andle ’im easy, and nurse ’im a bit, e’ll give yer some sport." "I can quite believe it," remarked the other, swinging into the saddle. "Ring the bell, will you? That will give him his cue to start." With a grin on his face the groom watched the melancholy steed amble sedately out of the yard and down the road. Before he had gone fifty yards the horse’s head had come up a little, he was walking more collectedly—looking as if he had regained some of the spring of former days. For there was a _man_ on his back—a man born and bred to horses and their ways—and it would be hard to say which of the two, the groom or the animal, realized it first. Which was why the grin so quickly effaced itself. The groom’s old pride in Boddington’s felt outraged at having to offer such a mount to such a man. He turned as a two-seated racing car pulled up in the yard, and a young man stepped out. He nodded to the groom as he removed his coat, and the latter touched his cap. "Grand day, Mr. Dawson," he remarked. "Scent should be good." The newcomer grunted indifferently, and adjusted his already faultless stock, while another groom led out a magnificent blood chestnut from a loose-box. "Who was the fellah in ratcatcher I yassed, ridin’ that awful old quod of yours?" he asked. To such a sartorial exquisite a bowler hat and a short coat was almost a crime. "I dunno, sir," said the groom. "Ain’t never seen ’im before to the best of me knowledge. But you’ll see ’im at the finish." The other regarded his chestnut complacently. "He won’t live half a mile if we get goin’," he remarked. "You want a horse if hounds find in Spinner’s Copse; not a prehistoric bone-bag." He glanced at the old groom’s expressionless face, and gave a short laugh in which there was more than a hint of self-satisfaction. "And you can’t get a horse without money these days, George, and dam’ big money at that." He carefully adjusted his pink coat as he sat in the saddle. "Have the grey taken to Merton cross-roads: and you can take the car there, too," he continued, turning to the chauffeur. Then with a final hitch at his coat, he too went out of the yard. For a while the old groom watched him dispassionately, until a bend in the road hid him from sight. Then he turned to one of his underlings and delivered himself of one of his usual cryptic utterances. "’Ave yer ever seen a monkey, Joe, sittin’ on the branch of a tree, ’uggin’ a waxwork doll?" "Can’t say as ’ow I ’ave, Garge," returned the other, after profound cogitation. "Well, yer don’t need to. That monkey’d be the same shape ’as ’im on a ’orse." *II*