ght of an
accomplished fact)--this museum of the state of flux has a climate
unrivalled for the production of the British temperament.
Not without a due proportion of that essential formative of character,
east wind, it has at once the hottest sun, the coldest blizzards, the
wettest rain, of any place of its size in the "three kingdoms." It
tends--in advance even of the City of London--to the nurture and
improvement of individualism, to that desirable "I'll see you d---d"
state of mind which is the proud objective of every Englishman, and
especially of every country gentleman. In a word--a mother to the
self-reliant secretiveness which defies intrusion and forms an integral
part in the Christianity of this country--Newmarket Heath is beyond all
others the happy hunting-ground of the landed classes.
In the Paddock half an hour before the Rutlandshire Handicap was to be
run numbers of racing-men were gathered in little knots of two and three,
describing to each other with every precaution the points of strength in
the horses they had laid against, the points of weakness in the horses
they had backed, or vice versa, together with the latest discrepancies of
their trainers and jockeys. At the far end George Pendyce, his trainer
Blacksmith, and his jockey Swells, were talking in low tones. Many
people have observed with surprise the close-buttoned secrecy of all who
have to do with horses. It is no matter for wonder. The horse is one of
those generous and somewhat careless animals that, if not taken firmly
from the first, will surely give itself away. Essential to a man who has
to do with horses is a complete closeness of physiognomy, otherwise the
animal will never know what is expected of him. The more that is
expected of him, the closer must be the expression of his friends, or a
grave fiasco may have to be deplored.
It was for these reasons that George's face wore more than its habitual
composure, and the faces of his trainer and his jockey were alert,
determined, and expressionless. Blacksmith, a little man, had in his
hand a short notched cane, with which, contrary to expectation, he did
not switch his legs. His eyelids drooped over his shrewd eyes, his upper
lip advanced over the lower, and he wore no hair on his face. The Jockey
Swells' pinched-up countenance, with jutting eyebrows and practically no
cheeks, had under George's racing-cap of "peacock blue" a subfusc hue
like that of old furniture.
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