George Henty - Rujub, the Juggler

“Of course I do,” she said indignantly. “You don’t suppose I intend to take the gloves if I win, and not to pay if I lose?”

“It is not altogether an uncommon practice among ladies,” the Doctor said, “when they bet against gentlemen. I believe that when they wager against each other, which they do not often do, they are strictly honest, but that otherwise their memories are apt to fail them altogether.”

“That is a libel, Mrs. Hunter, is it not?”

“Not altogether, I think. Of course many ladies do pay their bets when they lose, but others certainly do not.”

“Then I call it very mean,” Isobel said earnestly. “Why, it is as bad as asking anyone to make you a present of so many pairs of gloves in case a certain horse wins.”

“It comes a good deal to the same thing,” Mrs. Hunter admitted, “but to a certain extent it is a recognized custom; it is a sort of tribute that is exacted at race time, just as in France every lady expects a present from every gentleman of her acquaintance on New Year’s Day.”

“I wouldn’t bet if I didn’t mean to pay honestly,” Isobel said. “And if Mr. Prothero doesn’t win, my debts will all be honorably discharged.”

There was a hush of expectation in the crowd when the ten horses whose numbers were up went down to the starting point, a quarter of a mile from the stand. They were to pass it, make the circuit, and finish there, the race being two miles. The interest of the natives was enlisted by the fact that Nana Sahib was running a horse, while the hopes of the occupants of the inclosure rested principally on Seila.

The flag fell to a good start; but when the horses came along Isobel saw with surprise that the dark blue of the Rajah and the Adjutant’s scarlet and white were both in the rear of the group. Soon afterwards the scarlet seemed to be making its way through the horses, and was speedily leading them.

“Prothero is making the running with a vengeance,” the Major said. “That is not like his usual tactics, Doctor.”

“I fancy he knows what he is doing,” the Doctor replied. “He saw that Mameluke’s rider was going to make a waiting race of it, and as the horse has certainly the turn of speed on him, he is trying other tactics. They are passing the mile post now, and Prothero is twelve or fourteen lengths ahead. There, Mameluke is going through his horses; his rider is beginning to get nervous at the lead Prothero has got, and he can’t stand it any longer. He ought to have waited for another half mile. You will see, Prothero will win after all. Seila can stay, there is no doubt about that.”

A roar of satisfaction rose from the mass of natives on the other side of the inclosure as Mameluke was seen to leave the group of horses and gradually to gain upon Seila.

“Oh, he will catch him, uncle!” Isobel said, tearing her handkerchief in her excitement.

The Major was watching the horses through his field glass.

“Never mind his catching him,” he said; “Prothero is riding quietly and steadily. Seila is doing nearly her best, but he is not hurrying her, while the fool on Mameluke is bustling the horse as if he had only a hundred yards further to go.”

The horses were nearing the point at which they had started, when a shout from the crowd proclaimed that the blue jacket had come up to and passed the scarlet. Slowly it forged ahead until it was two lengths in advance, for a few strides their relative positions remained unaltered, then there was a shout from the carriages; scarlet was coming up again. Mameluke’s rider glanced over his shoulder, and began to use the whip. For a few strides the horse widened the gap again, but Prothero still sat quiet and unmoved. Just as they reached the end of the line of carriages, Seila again began to close up.

“Seila wins! Seila wins!” the officers shouted.

But it seemed to Isobel that this was well nigh impossible, but foot by foot the mare came up, and as they passed the Hunters’ carriage her head was in advance.

In spite of the desperate efforts of the rider of Mameluke, another hundred yards and they passed the winning post, Seila a length ahead.

The exultation of the officers of the 103d over Seila’s victory was great. They had all backed her, relying upon Prothero’s riding, but although his success was generally popular among the Europeans at the station, many had lost considerable sums by their confidence in Mameluke’s speed.

Isobel sat down feeling quite faint from the excitement.

“I did not think I could have been so excited over a race between two horses,” she said to Mrs. Hunter; “it was not the bets, I never even thought about them—it was just because I wanted to see Mr. Prothero’s horse win. I never understood before why people should take such an interest in horse racing, but I quite understand now.”

“What is your size, Miss Hannay?” Wilson asked.

“Oh, I don’t care anything about the gloves, Mr. Wilson; I am sorry I bet now.”

“You needn’t feel any compunction in taking them from me or from any of us, Miss Hannay; we have all won over Seila; the regiment will have to give a ball on the strength of it. I only put on a hundred rupees, and so have won four hundred, but most of them have won ever so much more than that; and all I have lost is four pair of gloves to you, and four to Mrs. Doolan, and four to Mrs. Prothero—a dozen in all. Which do you take, white or cream, and what is your size?”

“Six and a half, cream.”

“All right, Miss Hannay. The Nana must have lost a good lot of money; he has been backing his horse with everyone who would lay against it. However, it won’t make any difference to him, and it is always a satisfaction when the loss comes on someone to whom it doesn’t matter a bit. I think the regiment ought to give a dinner to Prothero, Major; it was entirely his riding that did it; he hustled that nigger on Mameluke splendidly. If the fellow had waited till within half a mile of home he would have won to a certainty; I never saw anything better.”

“Well, Miss Hannay, what do you think of a horse race?” Bathurst, who had only remained a few minutes at the carriage, asked, as he strolled up again. “You said yesterday that you had never seen one.”

“I am a little ashamed to say I was very much excited over it, Mr. Bathurst. You have not lost, I hope? You are looking” and she stopped.

“Shaky?” he said. “Yes; I feel shaky. I had not a penny on the race, for though the Doctor made me put into a sweep last night at the club, I drew a blank; but the shouting and excitement at the finish seemed to take my breath away, and I felt quite faint.”

“That is just how I felt; I did not know men felt like that. They don’t generally seem to know what nerves are.”

“I wish I didn’t; it is a great nuisance. The Doctor tries to persuade me that it is the effect of overwork, but I have always been so from a child, and I can’t get over it.”

“You don’t look nervous, Mr. Bathurst.”

“No; when a man is a fair size, and looks bronzed and healthy, no one will give him credit for being nervous. I would give a very great deal if I could get over it.”

“I don’t see that it matters much one way or the other, Mr. Bathurst.”

“I can assure you that it does. I regard it as being a most serious misfortune.”

Isobel was a little surprised at the earnestness with which he spoke.

“I should not have thought that,” she said quietly; “but I can understand that it is disagreeable for a man to feel nervous, simply, I suppose, because it is regarded as a feminine quality; but I think a good many men are nervous. We had several entertainments on board the ship coming out, and it was funny to see how many great strong men broke down, especially those who had to make speeches.”