I took possession of one of the places that had come to me near Mitcham. It had such fine surroundings.
It was as beautiful a home as one could wish, right at the very foot of the hills, with a glorious old world garden full of lovely flowers, with fruit trees and vines, with gently playing fountains, and with in fact everything that would speak always to the mind of youth and tell of love, peace and happiness.
I furnished it with the best that money could buy, having Mary always in my mind, and making sure all the time, that it was there I should be bringing her when our honeymoon2 had waned3.
I called on the Chief within a few days of coming down. Candidly4 I wanted his advice, and he was the only friend I had in the city.
He was genuinely pleased to see me, and met me with a hearty5 shake of the hand.
“Well, my boy,” he exclaimed genially6, “so you’ve come this time without being fetched. Any more trouble on the board — have you got the sack?”
“No Chief,” I answered cheerfully, “but it’s a very different person that stands before you now. I mean very different to the poor hunted wretch8 who stood here last time.”
“Dear me, if my memory serves me right, it was a very insolent9 young man that stood before me once, with very little of the hunted wretch about his face. But, I see you’re togged up a bit now — quite like an English swell10. What horse have you been backing lately?”
“Chief,” I said seriously, “I’ve come into money. I’m a very rich man.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’ve come to tell you about it and get your advice too, on another matter.”
The Chief listened most interestedly, and it quite warmed my heart to see the genuine pleasure he took in my good fortune.
When I had finished and he had congratulated me many times over, he asked me kindly11 how he could help me.
“Look here,” I said bluntly, “I want to get to know Sir Henry Vane.”
“But don’t you know him already — didn’t he give you that tenner in King William Street once?”
“Yes, but I don’t mean that way at all. I want to know him socially. I want to know the family.”
The Chief stared for a moment, and then a broad grin broke over his face. “So ho! my lad,” he exclaimed all smiles. “It isn’t Sir Henry you want to know, it’s Miss Mary you’re interested about. Now I come to think of it, you once wasted three-quarters of an hour of the valuable time of four of my best men, by going into a cafe and sitting there to gaze at Miss Vane. Oh yes, I remember all about it now, and so that’s the job you’re on, is it?”
“Look here again, Chief,” I said solemnly, “It’s my intention to marry Miss Vane.”
“Oh, is it? Well, good luck to you, my boy; but let me tell you straight — right at the beginning; you’re taking on something deuced stiff in setting your cap there.”
“I know that perfectly12 well,” I replied, “and I’ve come to you because I know for certain that if anyone can help me, you can. You know Sir Henry, don’t you?”
“Yes, John, I know him.”
“Well, couldn’t you put me in the way of getting to know him?”
“Look here, lad, I’ll tell you all about Sir Henry and his family, and you can then judge for yourself. You know where they live; up at Aviemore, on Mount Lofty. He and his sister, who keeps house for him, and Miss Mary. Now, to begin with, they’re very rich. Your money will be of no use to you. I mean, if you were as rich as Croesus and Sir Henry didn’t like you — he’d just turn you down as soon as look at you — if you went near. Last fall, there were two fellows after Miss Mary, besides Percy Thornton, who’s always on the job. One was young Felders of Sydney — pots of money and all that, but devilish fast with the girls. He made a dead set on Mary directly he saw her, but he never got the ghost of a look in. Sir Henry told him flatly he didn’t wish him to know her. Then, there was the Tavish man. No scandal about girls there, but rumours13 of shady financial ways that had made him rich. Just the same ‘keep off the grass, please,’ straight to his face. I must say Miss Vane was not apparently14 taken with either of these gentlemen, for she plainly acted with her father in choking them off. So you see, my boy, money’s nothing to them. Now about their social life. There’s no more exclusive set in all Australia — they’re most deucedly particular whom they admit to terms of friendship. No, they’re not a bit snobby15. They have acquaintances everywhere in all walks of life; rich and poor, it doesn’t make any difference.
“Plenty of acquaintances I say, but friends — ah! that’s the difficulty. They keep themselves very much to themselves. It takes a long while before any one can say they’re friends of the family. It’s a deuced hard set to get into. Before you’re ever invited up to dinner, or indeed into the house, you’ve first got to be thoroughly16 approved of by Sir Henry. He’s a man of the world. He’s quite a democrat17 in his way, and free and easy, and hail-fellow-well-met with, as I say, all sorts of people here. But behind it all, he’s still got the prejudices of the class in which he was born. He’s an aristocrat18 at heart, and keeps his family proudly to himself. You can get to know Sir Henry himself easily, in a way. He races, and if you race, as I expect you will, you’ll soon have a speaking acquaintanceship with him. If you go straight and don’t have your horses pulled, and don’t let the poor public be done in too often by too obviously in and out running, then Sir Henry will be always pleasant to you and give you a friendly nod when he sees you. But wait; that won’t mean he’s going to let you get behind him to his womenfolk — see? He’ll be quite nice to you, but it will probably end there. He won’t introduce you necessarily to Miss Mary. In a word John — you’ve got to make good yourself to get behind the cold reserve. No pushing from anyone outside will help you with this kind of people. It’s up to you to work it yourself. One thing, however, I will say — once they really take to you and admit you as one of themselves — they’re the nicest people in the world to get on with. They trust you in everything. Now, do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” I said, “it’s very nice of you to be so frank about it.”
“Of course, however,” he went on smiling, “if Miss Mary should happen to take a fancy to that nice brown face of yours — well anything might happen, for she’s one of those girls who’ve got a lot of character behind her pretty clinging ways.”
“You know the family fairly well then, Chief?”
“Yes, I do. You see, Sir Henry and I went campaigning together. I am quite a friend of theirs, and that is why I can tell you everything so plainly. And now look here, John. I shall keep a fatherly eye on you and your romance, and if ever I see a chance where I can chip in and help you — you can depend on me.”
I left the Chief, at first feeling rather disspirited and down at the mouth, but I soon began to reason myself into a better frame of mind.
After all, I thought, I was in an infinitely19 better position than I was a year ago. Then, I seemed to have no chance whatever, but now, at all events as far as worldly goods were concerned, I could at least meet Sir Henry on equal terms.
I quite realised as the Chief had insisted in rubbing home, that everything now depended upon my own efforts. Well, I thought again, in getting to know Mary and her family I would leave nothing to chance. I would make the chance myself.
Directly they returned to Adelaide I determined20 I would lay energetic siege to the castle that held my lady love.
In the meantime I busied myself with Rataplan. I had bought a good stretch of land adjoining a farm of mine near Roseworthy and under the care of one of the station overseers, who in his time had worked in a large racing21 stable near Melbourne, had put Rataplan into strict training.
It was not that he was requiring much training. He was naturally a born leaper, and the work I had given him at Velvet Hills had brought him to the pink of condition.
He had always given us little trouble, but in one way I was very anxious about him.
I knew he was a very good animal, and I myself had never been astride of anything within two stone of him, but still I had never yet had the opportunity of trying him with any known good class public performer.
We had clocked him many times. He was always handicapped by a terribly slow beginning, but he had done two and a quarter miles, with me on his back, in under four minutes and a quarter and with a flying start I had known him to cover seven furlongs in one twenty-five.
So I knew he must be pretty smart, but before racing him in public, I determined to get a line to see how he compared with the general run of South Australian horses.
I set my fancy on a rather smart performer, Lad of Mine, an aged22 hurdler, about ten years old, that had been doing very well lately, and was generally about the eleven stone mark.
His running was a little bit of the in and out variety, but with a good jockey up, he was always to be reckoned with, even in the best of company.
I approached the owner and suggested a deal. After a little bargaining we came to terms.
Then, I sought out the jockey who usually rode him and made it worth his while to come up to Roseworthy for a trial.
Keys was the jockey’s name, and I took him over the course I had arranged, and gave him every opportunity of observing its peculiarities24.
He could weigh in comfortably at nine stone, but I went to scale at eleven stone six.
I didn’t let him know what weight he was carrying, but I put him up on Lad of Mine with twenty-one pounds of lead under his saddle — myself, I mounted Rataplan as I was.
The trial was to be two miles and a quarter, over eight flights of hurdles25, and my man sent us off to a good start.
As usual, Rataplan was dreadfully slow in getting off, and Lad of Mine’s jockey looked back and grinned sympathetically when he was fully7 twenty yards ahead. But he didn’t grin long.
I tried to ride Rataplan exactly as if we were riding in a public race. I didn’t hurry or bustle26 him in any way at first, but just let him find, in his own time, that wonderful devouring27 stride of his.
He was soon gaining on Lad of Mine but Keys, good jockey that he was, made no effort to push his mount.
He was reckoning, I guessed, to profit later by the exertion28 of the extra work Rataplan was now putting in.
But he was reckoning I knew, without his host. At a mile Rataplan had drawn29 level, and for another mile the two animals raced even, side by side.
Lad of Mine was a good jumper, and it would have rejoiced any experienced racing crowd to mark the perfect way both beasts took their hurdles together.
Just when we had passed the two-mile post, I thought it about time to see what Rataplan could do. There was one more hurdle23 to jump, and I put him to it at a suddenly increased pace.
Lad of Mine came over faultlessly a length behind us and then, with about three hundred yards to go, I touched Rataplan slightly with the whip and let him out.
It filled me with delight to feel him instantly draw away. Lad of Mine made a game effort to come after him, but he might have been fetlock deep in mud, for all the effect it had, and Rataplan passed the winning post fully ten lengths ahead.
“What were we giving you?” called out Keys when he came up.
“I was giving you thirteen pounds,” I replied smiling.
“My word, but he’s a corker then. He went that last furlong like he was in a sprint30. Why don’t you put him on the flat, sir?”
“Because for one thing, he’s a terribly slow beginner, and for another I don’t think he’ll be handy enough at the turns. He loses badly at the corners.”
We gave both horses a good rest, and then changed mounts. I promised Keys a box of cigars if he caught me before we reached the first mile post.
I slipped Lad of Mine away sharply, and was quickly many lengths ahead of Rataplan, but Keys no doubt thinking of the cigars, shook the latter up a great deal more than I had seen fit to, and easily caught me before the mile was reached.
He was most enthusiastic about Rataplan, and echoed almost word for word what the manager had told me the first time I was introduced to the gelding.
“I don’t think, Mr. Stratton,” he concluded, “we shall find a horse in the State able to beat him at level weights.”
Rataplan gave his first bow to the public at a Balaklava meeting, and with nine stone up, made a small field of seven look exceedingly silly.
Then he went on next to Gawler, and with nine stone seven this time, gave the good people there a great, if not exactly profitable, treat, by the easy way he trounced thirteen others. He started a little over eight to one.
Then I entered him for a handicap hurdle at Victoria Park, and this time he was allotted31 ten stone seven.
The handicappers were evidently waking up to the gelding’s possibilities, I thought, and I was looking forward to the time when the weight allotted would allow of my taking the mount myself.
Several smart performers were entered at Victoria Park, and Rataplan would now be running against some quite respectable animals.
I was early in the paddock that afternoon, and had a good look over the other competitors. Sunrise in particular took my fancy. He was a handsome chestnut32 — an old Oakbank hero, and was carrying top weight — eleven stone ten.
Then there were two others on the eleven stone three mark. Podger and the Wizard, both very good looking animals, and not to be despised.
Very much lower in the handicap there was Kilkenny, nine stone seven, a very useful-looking little beast, just beginning to make some name for himself in moderate company.
Altogether there were fifteen horses ready to run. Rataplan had a lot of admirers, and most people stopped to have a look at him as they passed his stall. It was not often a hurdler was put up fourteen pounds so quickly.
I gave Keys very particular instructions about the race. Rataplan was drawn number one against the rails, but I knew from his slow beginning, the position would be of no use to him. So I told Keys that if he were tailed off as usual, to bring him right round on the outside, and when he made up ground, to keep him well behind the leaders until he entered the straight. The only thing I had found that really annoyed the gelding was the dust.
I finally told Keys that once in the straight he was to win as he liked, for I wanted the weight raised so that I could take the next mount myself. Keys grinned at this part of the instructions, and remarked that in fifteen years’ racing he’d never been told such a thing before. The invariable command he received was to keep the win down if possible to half a length.
I was just giving him a leg up before he went on to the course when happening to look up, I suddenly saw Mary and her father among the crowd against the palings.
The girl noticed me at the same moment, and in a flash, I saw the changing expression on her face. The eyebrows33 contracted sharply and sweetly curved lips parted just a little. She stared hard at me for a moment and then, evidently taking in the number on Rataplan’s saddle-cloth, quickly dropped her eyes and began turning over the pages of the programme she was holding in her hand.
“Good,” I thought delightfully34, “now she will at least know my name.”
But Rataplan had got a little excited with the close proximity35 of the crowd and I had for a moment to transfer all my attention to getting his jockey safely into the saddle. When I looked round, about half a minute later, the girl and her father had disappeared.
I went up into the owner’s stand with a great happiness in my heart. Now at last the waiting was all over and I was, for good or evil, for good luck or bad luck, face to face with the difficulties of winning the hand of the girl I loved.
It was only for a very short time, however, that I could give way to my thoughts.
The usual shout went up that the horses had started on their way.
The start was only about two hundred yards off the grandstand, and as they came before us and over the first flight of hurdles Rataplan was, as I expected, quite ten lengths behind the rest of the field, but I noticed with satisfaction, that Keys had brought him well away from the rails and pretty well clear of the dust of the other horses.
He took the first hurdle in faultless style, and the crowd knowing something now of his peculiarly slow beginnings, cheered ironically as he passed before them.
Keys seemed to take the cheers to his own account, and turning towards the stands, grinned appreciatively at the noise they were making.
The field was soon well away from us, but Rataplan had found his stride, and was quickly overhauling36 them.
When they were opposite the grand stand on the far side of the course, he had worked his way well up into the bunch of the middle horses. Only Sunrise and Kilkenny were then well in front, with perhaps three lengths between them and the others.
Just before coming to the turn leading into the straight run for home, I saw Keys begin to get busy on Rataplan, and before any one could almost take it in, the gelding had flashed up level with Sunrise and Kilkenny.
Both Sunrise and Kilkenny had got something in hand, and the three came away together, almost in line. Then Rataplan lost slightly at the turn and came into the straight, a good length behind the other two.
The crowd shouted “Sunrise, Sunrise wins easily — no Kilkenny,” but Rataplan was now putting in his fine burst of speed, and there was at once no question about the issue.
Kilkenny crumpled37 up immediately, but Sunrise, perhaps remembering his old sprinting38 days, for a moment held Rataplan in check. Only for a moment, however, and the latter came away from his now solitary39 opponent, length upon length. When they passed opposite the Derby stand Rataplan was a good five lengths in front, and Keys (enjoying himself immensely), turned his grinning face towards the crowd and waved his hand.
Rataplan ran home easily a winner by seven lengths, and returned ￡3 15s. dividend40 — being almost cofavourite with Sunrise.
I met the gelding as he came in, and it was a proud moment for me as he affectionately nosed up to my hand. The public were very much taken with his performance, and surged up to the palings to get a good look at us both.
I had been introduced to the great Percy Thornton earlier in the day, and he was among the first to congratulate me.
“You have a magnificent animal there,” he said, “and anything is possible with him, but why on earth, man, don’t you run him on the flat?”
Sir Henry Vane came up as we were talking, and young Thornton at once introduced us.
“A new conquering hero, Sir Henry,” he said, “a gentleman who has come from up country to teach us poor city chaps how to run our horses.”
Sir Henry smiled pleasantly, but not offering to shake hands gave me a little bow.
Half mechanically I saluted41 him in return, and his fine face flushed up with pleasure.
“Force of habit I expect Mr. Stratton,” he said genially. “Well all the same it’s sometimes very pleasing to an old campaigner. It takes us back to those happy days when we all had hard work to do.”
“Yes, Sir Henry,” I returned, smiling easily. “I remember you at Bullecourt and later on before Amiens.”
“Ah, we lived then, Mr. Stratton, didn’t we? It was risk and danger all the time, but it was the champagne42 of life all the same.”
We chatted lightly for a few minutes, and in parting I could see I had made a good impression on him, for he shook hands cordially before moving away.
All the while out of the tail of my eye I could see Miss Mary up on one of the stands. She was interestedly watching my conversation with her father, and I took care, every now and then, to let her know I had got my eye on her too.
Internally, I was greatly excited at speaking to her father, but outwardly at least, I prided myself there was no trace of the state of my feelings within.
I had held myself upright and straight as became a soldier, and the whole time had talked easily and without embarrassment43 of my service in France. Remembering the part I intended him to play in my future life, I was anxious to make good at once that I was no ignorant and uncultivated hobble-dehoy.
Waiting for the starting of the next race, I stood by the palings near the weighing-in room, thinking that by remaining there I could get a nice half view of Miss Mary’s face all the time. She soon became aware that I was watching her, and at once very obligingly made a half turn round so that I could see her full face. “You sweet little minx,” I thought, “you’ve got some pluck in you besides your pretty ways. You know I want to look at you and you’re purposely giving me the chance.”
I thoroughly enjoyed myself that afternoon. Everything, I thought, was going on well. Rataplan had covered me with honour and glory — lots of nice people had been brought up and introduced to me; I was on good speaking terms with Mary’s father, and last but not least — Mary had herself suggested to me in a deliciously provoking way, that it was just possible the longing44 and the hunger in my heart might be having all the time its exact counterpart in the soft and gentle breast of the sweet girl only a few yards away.
Things, however, didn’t move as quickly as I had hoped, for after that day, try as I might, I didn’t seem to be able to get any closer to the Vane family. I joined everything and went everywhere where I thought Mary would be likely to go, but without any real success.
I saw her every now and then at public functions, and we always exchanged glances in a frankly45 mutually interested way.
I felt I had told her many times in an unspoken way that I admired her, and in return, I always thought the sweetest look in the world came over her face when her eyes purposely met mine.
Of one thing, I became very certain. Directly I did get to know the girl, the preliminaries to our sweet-hearting should be of very brief duration.
I would go straight to the point, I thought, and tell her at once that I loved her. I believed too she would want me to be brief, for I knew quite well we had told each other many times with our eyes of the mysterious desire that was overshadowing us both.
I called on the Chief one day and complained of my slow progress. He seemed very much amused.
“Well, as I told you,” he laughed, “you’re not going to get Mary without a fight. She’s a charming girl, and if I were heart-whole I should sigh like you. One thing, however, I can let you know, to cheer you up. She’s interested in you — quite interested, and very frank about it too. I was dining there last week and something brought up your name. I was sitting opposite Miss Mary, and, my dear John, I saw the prettiest blush imaginable, as she dropped her eyes upon the plate. A little later, however, she joined in the conversation herself and asked me where you lived. I said, I assure you, all the nice things I could about you, and pictured you as the very ideal of a young man.”
“Well, Chief,” I said disappointedly as I took up my hat to go, “I wish Sir Henry were inclined to be a bit more friendly — he’s always very nice when I meet him, but as you see, it all ends there. However, I’m on the look out and you see if I don’t do something desperate soon.”
Two days after my conversation with the Chief, what I thought was an opportunity presented itself.
I heard Sir Henry was selling a couple of his two-year-old fillies, Pearly Tears and Melinda. They were good little fillies, and I had seen them both in running at various times.
I thought I would ring him up — tell him I would like to buy them, and ask him if he could see me, if I came up at twelve o’clock straight away.
Twelve was very near one, I argued, and it was quite possible that if Sir Henry had made a good bargain with me over the fillies, what would be more natural than that he should ask me to lunch.
At any rate I thought I would try it. My hand was trembling when I took up the receiver, but being put through to Aviemore I said who I was, and asked to speak to Sir Henry. Sir Henry came at once to the ‘phone, and hearing what I wanted, after a moment’s hesitation46, said twelve o’clock would do very nicely for him.
I was in the thick of it now with a vengeance47.
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1
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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snobby
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| a.虚荣的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sprint
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| n.短距离赛跑；vi. 奋力而跑，冲刺；vt.全速跑过 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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36
overhauling
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| n.大修；拆修；卸修；翻修v.彻底检查( overhaul的现在分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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sprinting
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的现在分词 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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dividend
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| n.红利，股息；回报，效益 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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42
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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43
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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