"Are you hurt?" said Trevor, with his arm still round her.

"No, no; not hurt--only let me go."

"I couldn't help it, gen'lemen," began the cabman.

"No, confound you!--it was an accident, worse luck!" said the princ.i.p.al sufferer, "or you should have caught it sharply, Mr Nine-hundred-and-seventy-six. Here's a pretty mess I'm in!"

"Very sorry, sir," said the cabman,--"but--"

"There, that'll do. Is the lady hurt?"

"No, no," said the woman, hastily, and she glanced timidly at Vanleigh, and then at Pratt, who was watching her keenly.

Just then a four-wheeler, which Trevor had hailed, came up, and he handed her in.

"Where shall he drive you?" said Trevor, as he slipped half-a-crown in the driver's hand.

"Twenty-seven, Whaley's Place, Upper Holloway," said the woman, in an unnecessarily loud voice; and the cab was driven off.

"Thank you," said the muddy stranger, holding out a very dirty hand to Trevor, who grasped it heartily.

"Worse disasters at sea," he said, smiling.

"Yes," said the other, looking hard in his face, "so I suppose; but then you do get an action for damages, or insurance money. I don't insure my clothes," he said, looking ruefully at his muddy garments, and then at those of the man who had served him. "I say, that was very kind of you, though."

"Nonsense!" said Trevor, laughing in the bright, earnest, middle-aged face before him. "Come into the club, and send for some fresh things."

"Thanks, no," said the stranger, "I'll get back to my rooms. I must have something out of somebody, so I'll make cabby suffer."

The cabman rubbed his ear, and looked blue.

"You'll drive me home, cabby?" said the stranger.

"That I will, sir, for a week," said the man, eagerly.

"We may as well exchange cards," said the stranger, pulling out a case, and putting a muddy thumb upon the top card. "There you are--John Barnard, his mark," he said, laughing. "Thanks once more. I'll stick your card in here with mine; and now good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Trevor, frankly; and they shook hands.

"I shall know your face again."

Saying which, after a curious stare in Trevor's face, the stranger climbed into the cab, the driver touched up his horse, and the two street boys and the crossing-sweeper, who had been attracted to the scene, were about to separate, when the latter pounced upon something white and held it up to Pratt.

"Did yer drop this 'ere, sir?"

"No," said Pratt, looking at the muddy note; "but here is sixpence--it is for one of my friends."

Directly after, to the disgust of the two exquisites, Trevor, soiled from head to foot, was laughing heartily at the rueful aspect of Frank Pratt as he entered the hall.

"Look here," he said, dolefully, as he held out his muddy gloves.

"Two-and-three; and brand-new to-day. Van," he added, with a peculiar c.o.c.k of one eye, "have you a clean pair in your pocket?"

"No," said Vanleigh, coldly. "You can get good gloves in the Arcade; but not," he added, with a sneer, "at two-and-three."

"Thanks," said Pratt; "but I am not a simple Arcadian in my ideas. Oh, by the way, Van, here's a note for you which somebody seems to have dropped."

Vanleigh almost s.n.a.t.c.hed the muddy note, which was directed in a fine, lady's hand; and there was a curious pinched expression about his lips as he took in the address.

"Ah, yes; thanks, much," he drawled. "Very kind of you, I'm shaw. By the way, Trevor, dear boy," he continued, turning to his friend, "hadn't you better send one of the fellows for some things, and then we might walk on to the Corner if you had nothing better to do? Try a suit of mine; those don't fit you well."

"No, I'll keep to my own style," said Trevor, laughing. "I don't think I could quite manage your cut."

Then nodding merrily in answer to the other's rather disgusted look, he sent a messenger to his hotel, and strolled off to one of the dormitories, while Frank Pratt went into the reading-room, where the others had walked to the window, took up a newspaper, furtively watching Captain Vanleigh and his friend, in the expectation that they would go; but, to his great annoyance, they stayed on till Trevor reappeared, when Vanleigh, with his slow dawdle, crossed to him.

"What are you going to do this afternoon, dear boy?"

"Well, I was thinking of what you said--running down to the Corner to look at a horse or two. Things I don't much understand."

"I'll go with you," said Vanleigh. "You'll come, won't you, Flick?"

"Delighted, quite!" was the reply, very much to Pratt's disgust--the feeling of disgust being equally shared by Vanleigh, when he saw "that gloveless little humbug" get up to accompany them.

No matter what the feelings were that existed, they sent for a couple of cabs, and a few minutes after were being trundled down Piccadilly towards what is still known as "The Corner" where that n.o.ble animal the "'oss" is brought up and knocked down day by day, in every form and shape--horses with characters, and horses whose morals are bad; right up through park hacks and well-matched high steppers, greys, chestnuts, roans and bays, well-broken ladies' steeds, good for a canter all day, to the very perfection of hunters up to any weight--equine princes of the blood royal, that have in their youth snuffed the keen air of the Yorkshire wolds; mares with retrousse noses and the saucy look given by a dash of Irish blood. Racers, too, are there, whose satin skins, netted with veins, throb with the blue blood that has come down from some desert sire, who has been wont in fleet career to tear up the sand of Araby like a whirlwind, spurn it behind his hoofs, and yet, at the lightest touch of the bit, check the lithe play of his elastic limbs at the opening of some camel or goat-hair tent, where half a dozen swarthy children are ready to play with it, and crawl uninjured about its feet-- the mother busily the while preparing the baken cakes and mares-milk draught for her Bedouin lord.

Volume 1, Chapter III.

FIRST ENCOUNTERS.

"Clean yer boots? Brush down, sir?"

"Why can't yer leave the gent alone? I spoke fust, sir."

"Here y'are, sir--out of the crowd, sir."

Sixpence to be earned, and a scuffle for it, with the result that Richard Trevor stood a little out of the stream of pa.s.sengers, stoically permitting a gentleman in an old red-sleeved waistcoat to "ciss-s-s" at him, as he brushed him most carefully down with an old brush, even though he was not in the slightest degree dusty.

"Now, look here, d.i.c.k, if I'm to go trotting about at your heels like a big dog, I shall bite at everybody who tries to rob you. I shan't stand by and see you fleeced. Is there something in salt water that makes you sailors ready to part with your money to the first comer?"

The speaker was Frank Pratt, as he drew his friend away towards one of the omnibuses running that day from Broxford Station to where a regular back and heart-breaking bit of country had been flagged over for a steeplechase course.

"You shall do precisely as you like, Frank," was the quiet reply.

"Very good, then--I will. Now, look here, d.i.c.k; you have now, I suppose, a clear income of twelve thousand a year?"

"Yes, somewhere about that."

"And you want to fool it all away?"

"Not I."