"Old Thirty Bob" . . OR HOW I WON THE JUMPING.

Free Lance, Volume I, Issue 38, 23 March 1901, Page 19

"Old Thirty Bob" . . OR HOW I WON THE JUMPING.

I SAY, Jim, you're never going to enter that brute?" cued Jack in disgust. "Ain't I," said I, "I toll you I am." "The old crate," he continued, 'why they will barrack you off the course, the pair of you." "I don't care," I answered doggedly, "I am going to enter him, and that's enough, and I don't mind laying you six to four in half-crowns that he wins though he is no beauty." "Lord," cried Jack, "I should think not , he is a cross between a clothes horse and a nightmare, and he has a coat on him like a dog." We were sitting on a rail of the fence smoking and enjoying the calm evening air, and the innocent object of these scornful remarks was grazing quietly in the paddock before us. He was a sorry-looking animal, there was no doubt: a dirty chestnut, lean and ragged looking, with a peculiar camel-like action of the hind quarters, a long Roman nose, and the most ludicrously humble expression of countenance, as if his face hurt him and he would be infinitely obliged if someone would present him with a new one. He was an old stock horse, and I had bought him for thirty shillings from a Maori. Notwithstanding his lack of pei&onal charms, however, I knew he was a good 'un to go, and of his iumping capacity I had no doubt, for I had tried him several times on the quiet, and only the night before had put him to some leaps considerably stiff er than those erected for the jumping competition on the morrow, and he had taken them beautifully — simply popped over like a tennis ball. Anyhow, I was determined to ride him, if it was only for the fun of the thing, and to keep up my reputation for "oussedness." If I lost I should undoubtedly have to stand a considerable amount of chaff, and if I won the glory would be all the greater tor being unexpected, and I should land a bit of money into the bargain. The Show day arrived, a most beautiful day, bright and sunny, with a light breeze blowing from the south. The ground was thronged with visitors from miles around — every man in the district, and carriages full of ladies. The jumping was to take place at half-past three, and there was a regular howl of

dension when I came cantering out on old "Thnty Bob." I just wish you could have seen what he looked like beside all those other well-bred looking hacks— lean and bony, with his head hanging down and his under lip stuck out, more exasperatmgly humble and apologetic looking than ever. Upon my word, he seemed as if he only wanted a lump of gorse under his tail to complete his appearance. "What the deuce has Jim got under him p " said my brother-in-law to his wife, and came running over to see. "Come down, you young fool!" he yelled, "you are never going to ride that bag of bones'" "Ain't I," said I with a wink, "get up Thirty Bob." And my aristocratic relative went away in disgust. I never got so chaffed in my life as I did while I was waiting for my turn to jump. Cries of "What-ho, Nightmare'" "Get inside," "Do you feed him on spiders?" etc., were all around me while I sat perfectly still, hoping with all my heart that the brute would not slip me up at the last moment and refuse to take the leaps. There were two hurdles, a gorse hedge, and a water jump, and, as yet, none of the horses had succeeded in negotiating the lot properly, most of them baulking at the water. A beautiful dark bay had just gone, and, after tin owing his rider at the hedge, galloped away down the course, and then it was my turn. Here, get up, old cemetery, I cried, and started him off. Over the hurdles he hopped, took the gorse hedge as easy as you like, and cleared the water like a bird, and then, if you please, let out a loud neigh, and started pawing the ground like a battle charger, while the whole field roared with laughter as I wheeled him round and brought him back to the starting place. Again and again he cleared the jumps as before, and by this time was the hero of the day, and when I led him away with the blue ribbon tied to his mane, he was followed by an admiring crowd, the ladies wanting to pat and stroke him, and a fellow offered me five pounds for him on the spot, but I would not sell him — not much. I kept him, and a, rattling good stock-horse he made , knew as much about cattle as I did. Yes I guess we played it low down On them that time, me and old "Thirty Bob."