NEXT morning after Millard’s hop, several of our acquaintance met on the piazza.
 
“What happened at the subscription party last night?” asked Peter Skerrett of Gyas, who looked blue and slumbrous as a night policeman.
 
“They didn’t do a very heavy business,” responded Guy. “Lob Lolly subscribed three hundred. Hobble de Hoy collected two-fifty. Belden lost like leaking. De Châteaunéant was collecting pretty well, till Sir Com Ambient came in and sat down opposite; then he seemed to get flustrated, subscribed once or twice, and went away.”
 
“What an astonishing feller that Belden is!” said Cloanthus. “There he comes in on Knockknees, and we’ve only just grubbed.”
 
Belden gave his horse to Figgins and lounged up the steps. He affected a dignified indifference with the younger men generally, but this morning he was quite gracious. They were discussing the preliminaries of the race. They had talked of a steeple-chase, but the riders did not come forward very freely, and they had determined to have a formal[185] race; mile heats on the second beach, best two in three, free to all ages, no handicap—in short, a kind of scrub race.
 
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[186] 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.”
 
[187]“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.”
 
“Why, what do you want us to do, Peter?” asked they penitently, by Gyas, principal spokesman. “Everybody is down on us. We try to do the fair thing. We pay our tailor’s bills and don’t smoke over five cigars a day. We don’t know what to do. Miss Sullivan, up at The Island this summer, used to pitch into us and say we ought to have ambition. Well, I did try politics once and went to the polls to vote. There was an Irish beggar who swore he’d seen me vote twice before. That rather knocked my politics. I’ve read all Thackeray, and Buck on the ‘Sublime,’ and Tennyson’s ‘Sacred Memories,’ and the ‘Pickwick Club.’ Then about religion—I’ll be blowed if I can keep awake in church. It’s no go. I try every Sunday. The Doctor can’t do it, and he’s allowed to be the best preacher in the world. I get asleep and have bustin’ nightmares on account of the painted windows.”
 
“Well, try to be good boys. Don’t bet, and I’ll[188] see if I can think of something for you,” said Peter.
 
The season was drawing to a close. There had been no earthquakes of excitement, no avalanches of clean or dirty scandal. Indeed, since the Pithwitch oration, there had been no event at Newport. People actually began to talk of going away too soon. The race, then, was the right thing at the right time. People began to talk of it astonishingly. Major Granby had, people said, ten thousand dollars bet with Mr. Belden. Major Granby was, so report alleged, a younger son of the Marquis of Grimilkin, and had made an enormous fortune on the turf. Rev. Theo. Logge said that he disapproved very much of betting, but that he should ask the winner to contribute to the Cause—he did not say whether the Lee Scuppernong cause or not. He hoped that his sister in the faith, Mrs. Grognon, would not interrupt her drive to the beach for these carnal excitements. Perhaps it was as well that she should see the race, to know for the future what to avoid. He would escort her and gain experience, which would be valuable to him in warning young men not to go to such scenes of temptation.
 
All the ladies became partisans. Miss Milly Center asked Mr. Dulger if he should ride.
 
“I’ve no horse,” said Billy, safe in that negation.
 
“But,” said Miss Millicent, “Sir Com Ambient[189] has none, and he says he intends to hire one just for the fun of the start.”
 
Unhappy Billy Dulger, whom nature did not shape to fit a saddle, must not be outdone by Sir Com, whom Milly quoted constantly. Billy consulted a livery-stable man. This personage provided Billy with a four-legged quadruped.
 
“He won’t win the first heat,” said the man, “nor perhaps the second; but git him through those, and I shouldn’t be surprised at anything.”
 
Bob O’Link entered his horse. Miss Anthrope, her nature seemingly changed with her proximate change of name, hung about him tenderly, praying him not to ride. She preferred that he should not be killed, for with his death would die Mrs. O’Link in posse.
 
Blinders entered a headlong steed............