sport," said Mr. Jorrocks to himself, curling his mustachios
and jingling a handful of five-franc pieces in the pocket of his
leathers--"moderate sport indeed," and therefore he turned his back to
the course and walked the Countess off towards the cab.

From beneath a low tenth-rate-looking booth, called "The Cottage of
Content," supported by poles placed on the stunted trees of the avenue,
and exhibiting on a blue board, "John Jones, dealer in British beer," in
gilt letters, there issued the sound of voices clamouring about odds,
and weights and scales, and on looking in, a score of ragamuffin-looking
grooms, imitation jockeys, and the usual hangers-on of the racehorses
and livery-stables, were seen drinking beer, smoking, playing at cards,
dice, and chuck-farthing. Before the well-patched canvas curtain that
flapped before the entrance, a crowd had collected round one of the
horses which was in the care of five or six fellows, one to hold him,
another to whistle to him, a third to whisk the flies away with a
horse's tail, a fourth to scrape him, a fifth to rinse his mouth
out,--while the stud-groom, a tall, gaunt, hairy-looking fellow, in his
shirt sleeves, with ear-rings, a blue apron and trousers (more like a
gardener than a groom), walked round and round with mystified dignity,
sacreing and muttering, "Ne parlez pas, ne parlez pas," as anyone
approached who seemed likely to ask questions. Mr. Jorrocks, having well
ascertained the importance of his hat and feather, pushed his way with
the greatest coolness into the ring, just to cast his eye over the horse
and see whether he was fit to go with the Surrey, and the stud-groom
immediately took off his lavender-coloured foraging cap, and made two
profound salaams, one to the Colonel, the other to the Countess. Mr.
Jorrocks, all politeness, took off his _chapeau_, and no sooner was it
in the air, than with a wild exclamation of surprise and delight, the
groom screamed, "Oh, Monsieur Shorrock, mon ami, comment vous portez
vous?" threw his arms round the Colonel's neck, and kissed him on each
cheek.

"Hold!" roared the Colonel, half smothered in the embrace, and
disengaging himself he drew back a few paces, putting his hand on the
hilt of his sword, when in the training groom of Paris he recognised his
friend the Baron of Newmarket. The abruptness of the incident disarmed
Mr. Jorrocks of reflection, and being a man of impulse and warm
affections, he at once forgave the no