I gathered from the conversation of the men that they were both fond of betting, and that Mr. King had received overnight a ‘tip,’ that is, information concerning a certain horse, which would enable him to make a large sum of money that day.
‘I am told that Melrose is sure to win,’ he whispered in a confidential4 tone to my master while they were waiting for 51the ladies. ‘Wigen wrote to me to put every penny I have upon it.’
‘I go with you,’ returned Benjamin Bunter. ‘I always thought there was something meant with Melrose. Now then, here is the missis; give her a hand, will you.’
Mr. King gallantly5 helped the ladies to their seats, then put the children in, and we started. A few idle boys gave us a cheer, the neighbours waved their hands, and then we went through the streets at a smart pace.
The load behind me was rather heavy, but I did not mind that, as there was, in addition to my curiosity being aroused, the prospect6 of a peep at the green fields and a few hours’ fresh air. In half an hour we had left the worst part of the bricks and mortar7 behind us, and were travelling among the neat suburban8 villas9 of prosperous tradesmen.
It was a bright fresh morning, and everything looked nice—villas, trees, flowers, everything, down to the butchers’ carts which we came upon now and then waiting at the garden gates of the houses. My party enjoyed everything; they were all in high spirits, and I have no doubt that Mrs. Bunter made the most of her bonnet10, which was a far superior thing to the article worn by her friend Mrs. King. In spite of this, however, the ladies were excellent friends.
About eight miles from town we pulled up at a roadside inn, and my master fetched out a pot of beer. I felt this to be the first hitch11 in a promising12 day; not that I personally object to beer, for I do not know even the taste of it, but I have seen the effects of it upon man, and they are anything but pleasant. Never by any chance does it elevate or improve, and too often it ruins and degrades—and yet men will drink it. Here is something which I am sure man himself fails to comprehend.
Our halt was brief, and we went on through quiet lanes and broad, well-kept roads garnished13 with fragrant14 hedges and tall, graceful15 trees, sometimes passing and at other times being passed by other parties greater or smaller in number, and they all seemed to be in the highest possible spirits, shouting and laughing as if the world had nothing in it beyond going to the 52races, and they had left no sorrow or sin or shame in the great city behind them.
By-and-by we came upon a stupendous hill, and here a boy sitting upon a horse volunteered to help us up the hill for sixpence. Benjamin Bunter was in an excellent humour, and the offer was accepted; the horse was attached to the shafts16 of the cart, and we moved forward.
Now I do not wish to speak ill of any of my race, but I must out with the truth at all times—that helping17 horse was a disgrace to his fellows. He was as cunning as a fox, and made a deal of show, pretending to strain his muscles and spluttering his feet about, but he did not pull a bit. He was as bad as the boy upon his back, who shouted and pretended to urge him on, while he really encouraged him to hold back. I ventured to remonstrate18 in a whisper to my helper, but he only answered with a short contemptuous laugh, which I have no doubt Benjamin Bunter interpreted as a cough, and I had to do the work of the hill in reality alone. At the top my master paid the boy the sixpence, and the precious pair went back in search of other victims.
After a brief rest we proceeded, and presently came upon the downs where the races were held, and my master guided me past a long line of white booths, erected19 for refreshment20 and various purposes. In some I have been told men gamble and fight, but I have never seen such things, and I only pretend to give the results of my actual experience. There was one large wooden erection which Benjamin Bunter pointed21 out to his wife as the Grand Stand; it was empty then, but I saw it later filled with ladies and gentlemen most magnificently dressed.
We were very early, and my master secured a good place near the ropes, after paying ten shillings for the privilege. He and Mr. King then got down and went away, and Mrs. Bunter brought out a bottle full of rum. She had a sip22, Mrs. King had a sip, and the children were induced to wet their lips with it. All this seemed to me to be very shocking, but there were many cartloads of people around doing much the same thing, and nobody cried out against it.
53Turning from Mrs. Bunter and her friend, I took a look at the scene around me. Like the great city, it defies description. Early as it was thousands had already assembled, and the air was full of shouts and laughter, and cries that some might have thought the outburst of joy; but I could detect a wail23 beneath it which told me that the joy was after all but a hollow thing. I was now old enough and had seen enough to read man at a glance, and as the thousands walked by I scanned their faces and read no real satisfaction there. They were hilarious24 it is true, but they lacked the contented25 expression which true happiness brings. But even the apparently26 happy were in the minority; the main part of this throng27 were eager, restless creatures, who walked quickly up and down, and talked in low whispers to their friends, or scanned little pocket-books with a forlorn look, as if they read their doom28 therein. ‘Knave and gamester’ were written in the looks of many—alas! too many—of the young as well as old. Every amusement presented by the itinerant29 took the gambling30 form—betting was the order of the day, from pence to pounds. Some held up purses and talked of large sums to be sold for a shilling, and the thoughtless, untutored novice31 in race-course ways bought them, to find themselves deceived, and to hear the laughter of those who find fun in a miserable33 lie. Wheels of fortune, spinning jennies, cards, dice34, all were there, and vice32, forgetting her shame, walked boldly in the sunlight.
Opposite, the big wooden stand and others on either side were filling, and a babel of voices rose from the shifting mass. This, I was told afterwards, was the noise of betting men, who risked their money—some all their wealth, honour, good name—on the race to come. Some of the noblest names in our land have been blackened in the betting ring. Some of the richest among the people have left their all upon the race-course, and gone home to shame and ruin. And yet men call racing36 ‘pleasure;’ but who can reason with them on the subject when they call pigeon-slaughter by the name of ‘sport’?
It was a strange motley scene, interesting in many points, but painful in most, for I could see that there was more folly37 than fun in everything around me; and folly, every thinking 54creature, horse and man, knows, is but the herald38 of ruin and shame.
I was musing39 on the scene when my thoughts were interrupted by a carriage which drew up beside me; it was open, and contained two young fellows barely arrived at the recognised age of manhood. Both were well dressed and in the highest possible spirits. I was immediately interested in them; but my attention was withdrawn40 by the horse in the brougham, who was in front of me—we stood in fact face to face.
There was a form a little more developed than I had hitherto known it, but quite familiar, from the tip of the well-shaped nose to the end of the ample tail. No need for that amused expression of face to guide me to a recognition; I knew him at once—it was my old friend Rip, and involuntarily I uttered a loud neigh of joyful41 surprise.
‘Hush42! pray do,’ remonstrated43 Rip. ‘Don’t be so vulgar. You really astonish me with your want of breeding.’
‘I was overcome with joy,’ I apologised. ‘Oh, Rip! how often have I longed for such an hour as this!’
‘Dear old Blossom,’ said Rip affectionately, ‘it is just like you to think of your old friends. No one, looking at your quiet ways, would imagine that you had half the emotion in you; but your sort of emotion is like still water—it runs deep.’
‘But where have you been—and what sort of masters have you had?’ I asked.
‘I have had only one master since I knew you,’ replied Rip. ‘Squire44 Tracey bought me of Mr. Bayne, and I am with Squire Tracey still. I have brought his two eldest sons here to-day.’
‘From Upton?’ I exclaimed.
‘Stupid old Blossom,’ said Rip, with a good-natured smile in his eyes. ‘No, Upton is a deal too far away; we came from town this morning. We always spend the fashionable months in the great metropolis—West-end of course. I have never cast eyes upon the east side of Temple Bar.’
‘And they treat you well, Rip?’
‘Nobly—from the squire to the groom45,’ replied Rip. ‘As for the groom, he is so kind to me that I positively46 love the fellow. He carries a whip as part of the furniture of a brougham, but I really cannot tell you if there is a lash47 upon it or not.’
‘I congratulate you upon your good fortune,’ I said, repressing a sigh. ‘My lot has not been so pleasant as I could wish, but I won’t complain.’
‘There never was such a horse as you to endure,’ returned Rip; ‘and yet it’s not from want of spirit; you have a tremendous deal of work in you, and you always did your duty nobly.’
‘It is only right to do so, Rip,’ I said, feeling rather foolish over this unmerited praise; and then at his request I gave him a brief outline of my life, and just as I concluded, Benjamin Bunter and his friend the plumber returned.
‘Melrose is first favourite,’ he said to his wife. ‘I have put the money in, and we are safe to win. The men who ought to know say he can’t lose;’ and the man’s face beamed as if the race was already over and he a winner.
‘Poor fool,’ said Rip contemptuously; ‘one of the numberless thousands who make the betting knaves48 of the turf rich. He is a sporting greengrocer—earns his money with toil49, gets a tip or hint from a trainer or jockey, who perchance knows no more than he, and risks not only his own money, but that which is due to others in the way of business. I have seen many like him, Blossom, and I know full well the expression in his face—he is elated because he is hopeful; but if his hopes in this case are foiled, he is a ruined man.’
‘I hope not,’ I said.
‘It is a fact,’ replied Rip. ‘See how he licks his lips and nervously50 presses his hands together; now he takes a sip from the bottle, as if that could help him. Poor fellow! there are thousands like him to-day upon this course, and in an hour more than two-thirds of them will realize their folly, and return home dejected, ruined, miserable—unless they drink, which but wards35 off the pain for the time, and brings it back tenfold on the morrow. But hush! here come the horses—the noblest and most graceful of our race.’
Then there filed past upon the course, which the police had 58previously cleared, a line of the most beautiful horses I had ever seen, each with a rider in a coloured jacket and cap upon his back. The glossy51 coats of the horses shone like rippling52 water in the sunlight, and their light fawn-like limbs trod the turf as if they supported creatures of air. Their appearance was greeted with a shout. The ladies uttered little ecstatic cries of admiration53; but the men were busy looking out for some particular horse on which their fortunes that day depended.
‘There—there,’ I heard Benjamin Bunter cry, ‘that’s Melrose; isn’t he a beauty? There is not another horse in the field like him. The red jacket wins!’
Melrose’s rider wore a red jacket, and many a tongue shouted out to him a word of encouragement as he went by; but other horses and riders had their supporters, who were as sanguine54 as Benjamin Bunter as to their success.
The horses passed on, and left the belt of turf called ‘the course’ perfectly55 clear. Half an hour’s restlessness ensued—the police moved up and down, urging the crowd to keep quiet and not break in upon the open space. Every face was turned to the starting point, and every eye was full of eager hope. Then came a cry, ‘They’re off!’ and ere I had fully56 realized the meaning of these words they came flashing by—a line of panting horses, with frantic57 riders remorselessly using both whip and spur. The colours of the men were mingled58, and I failed to single out the red jacket of Melrose as the body swept past me, and the next moment the air was full of shouts and cries, and the race was over.
Then came a brief lull59, and I saw some numbers hoisted60 on a board opposite. Benjamin Bunter, with a borrowed field glass, scanned the figures for a moment, and then fell back with a groan61.
‘I thought so,’ said Rip quietly to me; ‘your master is ruined. Melrose is not one of the first three. I saw him bringing up the tail of the race, looking as if every bit of life had been beaten out of him.’
I made no reply, for my thoughts were laden62 with sorrow: on the whole my master had been kind to me, and his misfortune 59was mine. Under any circumstances I must have grieved for a ruined man, but the ruin in this case was brought near home to me, and my heart was very heavy indeed.
I was made sad too by what I saw and heard around me. Thousands of tongues were busy with the race, and disappointment was the general tone. It was horrible to hear the cursing heaped upon the horses. Some cursed the winner, some cursed the losers; but no one in my hearing spoke63 one kind word for the horses who had shown such matchless powers—not a word of their beauty, or the ease and grace of their movements, or of the spirit they had shown in the efforts made.
After the first excitement of the race was over, hampers64 were unpacked65 in all directions, and both men and women began to eat and drink—the winners to celebrate their success, the losers to drown their grief, and the ruined to stave off thought until the morrow. Wandering minstrels began their songs—women and girls in tawdry finery danced upon the turf to the music of cracked instruments—sunburnt gipsies with babies in their arms stole from carriage to carriage and told fortunes as truthful66 as the ‘tip’ my unhappy master had received; women laughed, men shouted, children cried; the cornet, the drum, the flute67, the tambourine—one and all lent their sounds to the general tumult68, and all was riot and confusion.
My eyes ached, my ears tingled69, and lifting my head above this distracting scene, I fixed70 my gaze upon the clear blue heaven above. Oh! how calm and peaceful—how glorious—how beautiful! and far away against a patch of white cloud I saw a speck71, and knew by its fluttering movement that it was a skylark singing; but his song was drowned in the popping of champagne72 corks73, the beating of drums, and the thousand and one other noises of the worshippers of Folly. The votaries74 of the race thought as little of the grateful hymn75 of the bird as they did of the great Giver to whom it was instinctively76 addressed. ‘Oh! man, man,’ I cried, ‘look up and read your lesson there!’
I became so absorbed in my reflections that I had forgotten Rip, until he gave utterance77 to a very indignant snort, and 60asked me if I had taken up with sulky ways. This I laughingly denied, and Rip, after pretending for a moment to be very angry with me, chatted on about old associations and his present life, until his two young masters, who had been away for awhile, came back again. They seemed to be indignant and vexed78 about something, and the younger, as he put his foot upon the step, said aloud—
‘John told me that Madcap was sure to win—and he was not one of the first three.’
The same song my master sung, but the name was different. Melrose was sure to win, Madcap was sure to win, and neither of them were near it. Surely there must be roguery somewhere.
Rip’s young masters were so annoyed that they would stay no longer, and I had barely time to say a few affectionate words to him ere they gave their servant orders to drive away. Rip, in obedience79 to a jerk of the reins80, turned round, nodding to me carelessly as he did so; but I saw a tear in his eye, and knew that a kind and tender heart lay under his flippant air. I am very fond of Rip, and I am sure he was fond of me.
My party by this time were in a very bad way; all had drunk a deal more than was good for them, and I heard Mr. Benjamin Bunter challenge Mr. King to fight. The ladies, however, interposed, and nothing came of it. After this they had more drink, and my master sang a song in a loud, cracked voice, and cut a lot of antics which made him appear very foolish. A few thoughtless people laughed and encouraged him, but I saw more than one man look at him with bitter contempt.
I do not care to say any more about the race-course, the very memory of it sickens me now—it was such a seething81 mass of folly, drunkenness, and vice; but I know that I was very glad when we turned our backs upon it, and started for home.
The road was crowded with vehicles full of men and women, most of whom were dressed up with paper feathers, false noses, as if the great object of the day’s holiday was to make themselves as ridiculous as possible. A great many in the garb82 of gentlemen were very much the worse for drink, and amused themselves with pelting83 the other wayfarers84 with bags of flour, cheap pincushions, and similar acts of folly—unworthy of men.
A mile from the course we got into a quiet road; but there were still many carts and carriages before and behind, and every public-house we came to was full. I can see now the number of horses waiting patiently outside for the masters who were drinking themselves into a mad or maudlin85 state within; I can hear their oaths and repetitions of their curses upon the horses which failed to win; I can smell the smoke of the cheap filthy86 tobacco which curled in great clouds from the open doors and windows;—that hateful scene and hateful day has haunted me ever since, and will haunt me till I die.
We stopped at many of these public-houses on our way home, and it was late—almost dark—when we arrived at Clapham, and then it began to rain. The clouds had been lowering for some time—but to men who are the worse for drink clouds and sunshine are the same. The people who had assembled to see the holiday-makers return were dispersed87 by it, and when we reached home even the streets were clear.
The rain was now falling fast; the whole of the party were soaked with rain; and when Benjamin Bunter pulled up at his door, his friends the Kings got out without a word. They just nodded a good-night, and as they passed on I heard Mr. King mutter to his wife that he hated going out in a common cart—there was no comfort in it, and it was not fit for a respectable tradesman.
Poor Mrs. Bunter! her bonnet was quite spoiled, and she was crying in a weak maudlin manner as her husband helped her out. He was in a sulky humour, and when the children came out to greet him he asked them what they meant by sitting up so late, and bade them go to bed at once. Mrs. Bunter supported this rebuff, and went even farther, threatening personal chastisement88 if she saw them again that night.
My master put me into the stable, tossed a feed into the manger, raked out my bed in a careless manner, and left me for the night. I was very wet and uncomfortable; but a horse 64has no right to complain, so I munched89 my food quietly, and made the best of a bad case.
Mr. Bunter’s back parlour window was near the stable: the night was warm, and the window was open, which enabled me to hear a deal of what was said. When my master went in his wife was crying still. He asked her what was the matter in a coarse brutal90 tone, such as I had never heard him use before. She replied in a querulous angry voice, bewailing the loss of her bonnet and the bad behaviour of Mrs. King, who had said something or other of a very personal nature on the way home.
Then there was a silence for awhile, interrupted only by the half-stifled sobs91 of Mrs. Bunter. This silence was suddenly broken by my master, who had apparently been brooding. I heard him rise up from his seat, and kicking over the chair, tell his wife to hold her crying about her bonnet and save her tears for something worse, for he had that day betted with and lost money which was not his own, and he was a bankrupt and a ruined man.
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1
plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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12
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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13
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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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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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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42
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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45
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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46
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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47
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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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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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hampers
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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votaries
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| n.信徒( votary的名词复数 )；追随者；（天主教）修士；修女 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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