LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1709, 12 August 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON. ' I do wish to goodness somebody (would take him away. There will be mischief if he stops much longer. I never saw him like this before.' «Who ?-like what, Mark ?' ' Why, the Squire.' ' What ia the matter now ? Is he in one of hia mad fits ! Has he done any damage ?' ' No. And that is the worst of it. When he takes it into his head to wreck a dinnerservico, or to play Aunt Sally with the glass, I do not so much mind, eo long as nobody is hurt. Such amusement calms him and he always pays the bill.' The speakers were Mark Hartbrook and Jane, his wife, hoßt and hostess of the Whinridge Armß, Thornford. The sceno of their anxious interview, their own small snuggery behind the bar, the time of it, an evening in April, The Thornford Hunt meeting had taken place that day, and it was now l* after dinner ' with the stewards and their friends in the principal room of the Whinridge Arms. Hartbrook had abundant cause for anxiety. The Squire, of whom he and his wife spoke, handsome Gustavus Whinridge, of Thornford Hall, was their landlord, and Mark's former master. A warm-hearted, generousnatnred fellow, imbued with old-world ideas of honour, he was, unhappily for his per-

Bonal peace a'od the habitual comfort of those with •whom }ie was brought in contact, handicapped wi*h a hot head and a spirit that brooked not the- least contradiction. For aU his intermittent wildnesses—which would of course have harmonious traits in a character of hejoila mould, had he come into the world s& the proper time, three or four centuries ewller—there were few persons in and about TSorhford who did not speak affectionately of tfes Squire. Tfcere was not his * marrow' to be found in thcae parts as a sportsman when he had youth to serve him; and now he was grown old and somewhat stiff in the joints, he could, as his idolaters expressed it, take hi'sowa pirtwith the bsst_ of them. Although he was now shortleg in the Thornford eleven, there was a time when he was equally good in any part of the field, and he is still to bo relied en to face the fastest bowling without pads, and confroat; it with, a "rock-!ike defence. Albeit increased bulk had somewhat hindered his triumphs in connection with the noble science, he was as good as ever on the twelfth and kindred days. But his ' awkwsrd times ' are a| trouble to his friends, as Mark Hartbrook knows.

♦He and youngj Dyke'y are flying st each other. Jenny; and how the row will end, I don't know.'

' What, the Captain ?' queried Mrs Hartbrook, with a look of alarm.

'Yea,' replied mine host. 'You know there's been bad blood between the pair ever since Marl got six month's for poaching on Dykely's land. Although the Squire is a durable hand at preserving, he never forgave him for prosecuting the young scamp.' ' I never quite knew why Mr Whinbridge took so much trouble over that business.'

' Oh, that was natural enough! Marl's mother nursed' Mi.s Augusta, the Squire's only daughter, and was with her when she died at Madeira. The old woman went to the Squire when her son was taken, and implored him with tears in her eyes to save the bad lot from being sent to prison. He promised he would, and I know how he tried. When he found that Dykely would not budge an inch from his position,, although he did pledge his word that: the lad should go for a soldier, or be sent out of the country anyway, he got Vellumny to- engage Rirerags, the Q.C., to defend Marl, and went into the witness-box: himself, and spoke for the son of his daughter's nurse. That had some effect, I suppose, for Marl only got six months—if they'd given him his due, it would have been years instead of months ; but Squire Whinridge never forgave Captain Dykely, * What are they disputing about ?' * Why, the Hunt Gup.' ' But if Dykely won, he beat nothing from the Hall.'

' That's nothing to do with it. The Squire means mischief to-night. Go it! continued he,, apostrophising a bell which shook above his head with unusual violence. ' I know whose hand is at the other end of the wire. I must go ; if any one else faced him at this moment something dreadful would happen.' Hereupon the bell was shaken with augmented ferocity. 'All right. I am coming, Gustavus the Terrible.'

With which satirical observation, Mark Hartbrook vanished.

The scene in the dining-room as mine host entered was literally one of admired disorder. Half-a-dozen men were speaking at once, and two members of the company were accentuating their remarks by means of gestures that betokened anger. One was the Squire, who had risen his height—upwards of six feet—and was standing with his back to the uncertain mirror at the President's head of the table, confronting, with flushed face and dangerous eyes, his opponent, Captain Dykely, a thin-lipped, dark-haired wiry man of pallid complexion. The voices could scarcely be said to mingle; Whinridge's was at the top of the entire discordant chorus of expostulation. He turned as Hartbrook entered, and, passing one hand through his yet luxuriant curls—in color a slightly grizzled auburn—he folded his arms across his chest and said—- ' Hartbrook, I want yon.'

'I am at your service, sir.' 'My friend'—a slightly sinister emphasis on the word friend—'my friend Captain Dykely and myself have had a dispute, and we want you to decide it.' 'lf you can,' interposed the Captain in a voice and manner that a less irritable person than the Squire would have deemed exasperating.

' I know he can, sir, and that ought to suffice. Now listen. You were on the holm to-day, and you. uaw the raoe for the Gup?' ' I did, air.' 'Very good. Now, what do you know about Fiuefaker, Captain Dykely's {horse? Is he not '

'Squire—squire!* protested several of the company.

' Vou are right, gentlemen. I will not put a leading question. Well—Fluefaker ?' *la a Eon of Agrimony and Fluff. Did nothing as a two-year-old. Was beaten whenhe was backed by the public, and won a couple of plates when ho wasn't, at three. Was bought out of a selling race and tried over hurdles at four. That is all I know. How he came to be qualified to run for the Hunt Cup is what I do not know.'

What did I say, gentlemen ? That this horse was not a genuine hunter; that, havingjbeen'out a few times and looked on, whereby he got that trumpery certificate from a M.F.H., was not a proper qualification ; and I repeat my words.' Here Mr Whinridge brought his fist down upon the board with a defiant vigour that made the glasses jingle again. ' Why, gentlemen, at equitable weights, this patched-up crook of a leather-flapper would not have the least chance against an honest hunter over a fair line of country.' ' He can be matched against anything you have got in your stable, when and where you please,' exclaimed Captain Dykely, by this time thoroughly aroused. ' He can, can he ?' almost shrieked the Squire. ' Then you are on, sir. Hang it, I'll run you for the Cup, and back mine for a hundred.'

' Yes!? replied the Captain, with energy. ' Catch weights. Name your time.' ' Name my time ?• Of course I will. My time, Captain Dykely, is to-night, one hour after moon-rise!'

Perhaps the only person present who was amazed at this apparently insane speech was ho whom (after the speaker) it concerned most, even Captain Dykely. To the others —and especially to Hartbrook, who audibly chuckled —the Squire's impetuous seizure of the offer, and fierce determination to have the wager settled out of hand) appeared quite a matter of course.

In responce to a question put to one of the stewards, who lived some distance from Thornford, as to whether ho intended stopping to see the match, there was a loud shout of *■ There !to be sure he will. And so will all of us. We would not miss the race for worlds.' In the midst of the hubbub, Whinridge, his whole frame vibrating with joyous excitoment, left the room, taking Hartbrook with him. Dykely followed them with a grave air of deliberation that betrayed his awakened concern. He already repented him of his rashness. He felt, to quote the language of the turf, that 'he had been rushed ' into making the wager by the exasperating taunts of the Squire ; and, looking at the ' arrangement * from a strictly sporting point of view, he began to have grave donbts of the issue. His own horse was none the better for tho race that was in him, and he was completely in tho dark about Whinridge's champion. Flukefaker might have to meet a fresh horse; tho Squire owned a strongish stud, which was seldom short of work. Then, a moonlight match! Who ever heard of such a thing ? Well, although he was not a Jack Mytton, he was game to see the thing through, idiotic as it looked. The match was pay or play, and the Thornford Hunt Cup should never adorn the Whinridge sideboard if he could help it. There was one element in the affair that favored him. He knew the line of country, and it the moon behaved herself, there was no daDger of his going on the wrong side of the flag. Squire Whinridge was conferring with Hartbrook in a private room. ' Now, Mark, attend to me. I shall want you to help me through with this business. What are you smiling at, you knave? I I suppose you think your old master has lost his head again. No, no; I mean to show you all, as well as that flashy Captain downstairs, that I know what I'm about. Where is Crowe ?'

'Awaitingyour orders.' 'And Appletart?—oh, I can guess. With his mouth in the manger.' He rang the bell peremptorily. 'Tell Crowe,' he said to a neat-handed Phyllis who obeyed the summons, 'to tie up Appletart's head at once, and then eonje to me,'

' Wn 7i «r, you surely don't—' ' Hare a care or you'll head the ±3*. Ido mean to run Appletart, if that is w&tfyou are aiming at. He was a bad third but hii jockey did not ride him out iolit place, or alse I think he might have been second. However, we'll discover to-night whether the weights won't just bring the pair together.'

' But, sir—the jockey ? ' 'Ha ! that's where you are, is it ? well, I own that the {jockey is rather an important feature m the case. Tell me —what do you thiak of sue for the mount ?'

' You, sir,' replied Hartbrook, with an expression of horror. ' Why, you would be done by the length of a street. You ride fifteen etono if you ride for an ounce.' ' No, no, no t Not so bad as that Mark. However, wait. The jockey will be ready, never fear. The moon rites at eleven, and we have therefore nearly six hours to look about us. By this time Crowe will have abridged A ppletart'r supper. Look in, and then send him here'

Mark was nonplussed, as he told his wife when he returned to the- snug-gory. Squire Whinridge playing the vory deuce and destroying things, he could understand; but Squire Whinridge gaing about his work in that business-like manner, he could not understand.

'He must have had his knife pretty deep into this Captain Dyiely, Jenny, or he would not take so much trouble to get the totter of him, for mind you, tho Squire is not one of the beating sort. But how he is to do it I don't know.- They bar professional jockeys; and where he is- going to pick up a feather among the amateurß hereabouts, puzzles me. All our good performers are on the meaty side. And a feather he must be, Jenny, to make the match a certainty." The news of the novel match spread rapidly through the town, and attracted to the : recognised centre of operations, the Whinridge Arms, crowds of sportsmen and idlers of all- classes, anxious to hear 'the rights of it.' Upon the simple facts of- the case there arose, as the moments sped, an airy superstructure of fiction, chiefly referring to the conditions of the forthcoming struggle, which would have done credit to the inventive powers of the American interviewer. If the moon did not rise the match was to be ridden by torchlight. Bach jockey was to carry a light, like a locomotive engine's, in order that the judge might Bee that neither of them went outside the track. These, with other statements equally picturesque, sufficed to divert the steadily increasing company during the time which intervened before that appointed for dropping the flag. Hartbrook profited hugely by the excitement. Every drop of the remarkable beverage which had been specially provided for the races was ungrumblingly consumed 'on the premises,' a source of deep commercial consolation to the mind of Mrs Hartbrook, albeit she did not by any means relish the idea of serving such customers with the best ale at the price of the ffuid just mentioned. Both Crowe and the Captain's man—a taciturn person named Widgeon—were made much of by a company laudably desirous of obtaining what is known in sporting circles as the straight tip ; but neither of the persistently catechised servitors afforded the inquirers any substantial satisfaction in the shape of answers. Crowe and Widgeon either knew nothing or they were acting—reticently—under orders. The moon arose precisely at the time appointed by the local almanac—a circumstance that did not escape the admiring notice of those natives of Thornford who rather looked upon the placid orb itself as local property—and a movement was thereupon made towards the racecourse. But where was the Squire ? From the moment he, Hartbrook, Captain Dykely, and William Heckler the starter, who was on this occasion to act as judge, had arranged the modus operandi, he had been missing. His last words were—(To he continued.)