University of Virginia Library

All the young folks on Boxing Day
Were to go some ten miles away
To races held at Linlithgow,
A township with a hut or two,
A state school and a public-house
Of functions rather various,
Post office, tavern, forge, and store.

Will said at breakfast, “Four or more
Will have to ride, the waggonette
Although it's pretty roomy, yet
Can't very well accommodate
More than the luncheon-things and eight.
Butters will ride on just ahead
To let us through the gates, and spread
The tablecloth and knives and forks,
And open tins and draw the corks.
Who is for riding?” “I,” said Phil,
And Albert Hall and Kit and Lil,
And the Professor, who confessed
That his seat was not of the best,
And asked to have a quiet horse.
Will answered gracefully, “Of course
I never give a horse that kicks
Or ‘bucks’ or has uncertain tricks
To any man until I ken
How he can ride, and never then
Unless he asks me, or we're short
Of nags. I think the so-called sport
Of putting new-chums on a brute
That bucks is cowardice absolute.
I don't think that we have a beast
About the place that bucks the least,
Except the grey Miss Johnstone picks.
Lil's chestnut shies but never kicks.”

The riders started none too soon
At ten to reach the course by noon:
The ride itself amidst the trees,
Across bush paddocks, could but please.
But three at least of the cortege
Were chafing if not in a rage.
Not the Professor and not Kit,
Who rode exchanging shafts of wit,
And making the whole forest ring
With laughter blithe, or noticing
The glory of the summer morn
Through the thin gum-tree foliage borne,
But Phil and Lil and Albert Hall
Woefully disconcerted all
At this unlooked-for partnership.
Lil had looked forward to a trip
With the Professor tête-à-tête,
Knowing the admiration great
Her brother Phil had always had
For dashing Kit, since quite a lad,
And that the bushman in his way
Liked well enough with her to stay;
And Phil and Hall had reckoned on
Choosing their own companion.
As Lil anticipated, they
From the Professor held away,
But then he was with Kit, not her,
And Phil had not a character
For taking disappointments well,
And muttered hints about ‘a sell.’
And ladies Hall scarce understood
Unless they sunk their womanhood
In masculine proclivities.
And so they rode in silence wise
With ennui undiversified,
Save when Lil's horse was scared and shied
Because a wounded wallaby
Sprung almost at its feet to fly.
Her fearlessness and skill combined
Astonished those who thought to find
A timid rider in the form
Which cringed so from the thunderstorm,
And Cobham, as they rode behind,
Revealed to Kit his puzzled mind.
“Lil's a conundrum,” answered she,
“She'll pick a snake up fearlessly
To dash its head against a tree,
And run in terror from a cow
As tame as those we passed just now.”

At length they rode up to the course,
An unfenced clearing where a horse
Could only know the track because
'Twas clear enough to let him pass.
A few drink-shanties and a box
Built for the judge of redgum blocks,
With sundry poor time-honoured shows
Alone beside the “paddock” rose
To stamp the race-course. There were few
Bookmakers, the bookmaking crew
Flying at higher game elsewhere.
The horsey, noisy talent here
Was chiefly local. Then there were
Owners of horses, stable boys
And station-hands, who made much noise
Of a good-humoured hearty sort,
And shewed keen relish of the sport,
But did not drink as people do
In England, or “knock down their screw”
For a whole year like those who've been
On far-back stations Riverine.

Being bred up a Londoner,
Though he'd spent much of ev'ry year
Out in the country, Cobham knew
Little of horses but the two
That brought her carriage every day
To take his mother out, and they
When they had brought her home at night
Dropped as completely from his sight
Until the morrow afternoon
As if they stabled in the moon.
And therefore he paid far more heed
To lunch and lady than to steed,
But not to Kit instinctively,
For she had neither ear nor eye
For anything but boy and horse
When she was once upon the course,
And was so far preoccupied
As to let Phil usurp her side
And feast his eyes upon her charms
Without recourse to flight or arms.

It was not altogether chance
Or undesigned, the circumstance
That in their morning gallop there
Cobham had been Kit's cavalier,
For Kit, as has been said above,
Was a sworn Amazon, and love
Was not a topic she'd endure
From any man, nor was she sure,
What Phil's precise intentions were.
He certainly bestowed on her
More of his company and care
Than he was wont to give the fair,
And she had seen him more than once
Dart her a glance that might announce
A state of feelings that would be
Distasteful in the last degree,
If he were to interpret it
As seemed most likely to her wit.
And if they'd ridden tête-à-tête,
And then had chanced to separate
From their companions as they rode
Through the lone paddocks, with their blood
Excited by the exercise
And storm-cleared atmosphere, Phil's eyes,
Might have been warmly seconded
By words she'd rather keep unsaid,
And so she had condemned poor Lil
To penance between Hall and Phil.
But Lil could have her full reward
When they were once upon the sward,
For the Professor, as was said,
Had not been in the country bred,
And about horses knowing naught
Had not the interest he ought,
And Lil, although she'd always been
Much among horses, yet had seen
So much of racing and the best
That she took no great interest
In a bush-meeting, unless one
Of her friends' horses chanced to run,
And then just for the minute's space
Of the duration of the race.
Besides she looked much prettier,
As the Professor could aver,
Than he had seen her look before,
With a fresh rosy tint spread o'er
Her cheek, which sometimes, he'd confess,
Was just a shade too colourless.
Then the swift motion through the air
Had loosened a bright lock of hair,
And as, if fault in her you'd find,
She was a trifle too inclined
To slenderness, a habit made
Of soft grey “homespun” tweed displayed
Her figure at its best—the fit
Perfect enough for even Kit.

Lunch was a feature of the day,
Which Butters had been told to lay
As soon as he had fastened up
The nags and given them their sup.
The three seats of the waggonette
Could be detached, and they were set
Beneath a shady wattle tree,
So that each lady on her knee
Could take her lunch conveniently.
There was no lack of luxury,
For turkey, chicken, duck, and pie,
Were ranged before the luncher's eye,
Flanked with peach-tart, Madeira cake,
Plum pudding, shortbread (of Scotch make),
And summer fruit and clotted cream,
With champagne flowing in a stream
Exhaustless. Soon the ladies went
Satisfied to their heart's content,
Leaving their cavaliers at ease
To finish luncheon when they'd please.
The gentlemen had ‘jolly fun,’
For they were hungry everyone
And in high spirits. Chesterfield
Had the consummate art, concealed
Beneath his kindness, to appear
Contented with whatever cheer
Was set before him; honest Will,
Child-like, loved any outing still;
And the Professor, for his part,
A boon companion was at heart.

When they rejoined the ladies, he
Helped Lil to mount, a mystery
He did not clearly understand,
But took her dainty foot in hand
As cheerfully as if he knew
Exactly what he ought to do.
And then he mounted, and the two
Rode slowly round, outside the course,
Oblivious of friend or horse,
Until the crowd that went away
Proclaimed the finish of the day,
When they resought their friends in time
Not to be noticed much. To climb
Unaided to her saddle took
Kit scarce a moment, then she shook
Her reins and cantered up to Lil
And Cobham, leaving Hall and Phil
To join the three or ride apart
Just as it pleased them—in her heart
Dreading a ride with Phil alone
A good deal more than she had done
Before he'd drunk so much champagne,
And striven with his might and main
To make her day enjoyable.
She had not liked it half as well
As she was wont, from constant care
Lest he should take her unaware
When none were near her, and intrude
The question she would fain elude,
Of which th' attentions he had paid
Gave her fresh cause to be afraid.
So she was forced for her own sake
Lil's tête-à-tête once more to break,
For, as she feared, esprit de corps
Or dread of being deemed a bore
Might make Hall spur his horse away,
If he thought Phil had aught to say.

However, Lily Forte and she
Had wide enough diversity
In character to be fast friends,
And Kit strove hard to make amends
For her intrusion by the will
To set the Oxford man and Lil
Each in the other's graces good,
To take care that each understood
The other's merits. They went home
A good deal faster than they'd come,
And soon had cantered into view
Of Mr Forte's oak-avenue.