The fifteenth of July was approaching, and the Polite World, the
World of Fashion, was stirred to its politest depths. In the clubs
speculation was rife, the hourly condition of horses and riders was
discussed gravely and at length, while betting-books fluttered
everywhere. In crowded drawing-rooms and dainty boudoirs, love and
horse-flesh went together, and everywhere was a pleasurable
uncertainty, since there were known to be at least four competitors
whose chances were practically equal. Therefore the Polite World,
gravely busied with its cards or embroidery, and at the same time
striving mentally to compute the exact percentage of these chances,
was occasionally known to revoke, or prick its dainty finger.
Even that other and greater world, which is neither fashionable nor
polite,--being too busy gaining the wherewithal to exist,--even in
fetid lanes and teeming streets, in dingy offices and dingier places
still, the same excitement prevailed; busy men forgot their business
awhile; crouching clerks straightened their stooping backs, became
for the nonce fabulously rich, and airily bet each other vast sums
that Carnaby's "Clasher" would do it in a canter, that Viscount
Devenham's "Moonraker" would have it in a walk-over, that the
Marquis of Jerningham's "Clinker" would leave the field nowhere, and
that Captain Slingsby's "Rascal" would run away with it.
Yes, indeed, all the world was agog, rich and poor, high and low.
Any barefooted young rascal scampering along the kennel could have
named you the four likely winners in a breath, and would willingly
have bet his ragged shirt upon his choice, had there been any takers.
Thus, then, the perspicacious waiter at the "George" who, it will be
remembered, on his own avowal usually kept his eyes and ears open,
and could, therefore, see as far through a brick wall as most, knew
at once that the tall young gentleman in the violet coat with silver
buttons, the buckled hat and glossy Hessians, whose sprigged
waistcoat and tortuous cravat were wonders among their kind, was
none other than a certain Mr. Beverley, who had succeeded in
entering his horse at the last possible moment, and who, though an
outsider with not the remotest chance of winning, was, nevertheless,
something of a buck and dandy, the friend of a Marquis and Viscount,
and hence worthy of all respect. Therefore the perspicacious waiter
at the "George" viewed Barnabas with the eye of reverence, his back
was subservient, and his napkin eloquent of eager service, also he
bowed as frequently and humbly as such expensive and elegant attire
merited; for the waiter at the "George" had as just and reverent a
regard for fine clothes as any fine gentleman in the Fashionable
World.
"A chair, sir!" Here a flick of the officious napkin. "Now shall we
say a chop, sir?" Here a smiling obeisance. "Or shall we make it a
steak, sir--cut thick, sir--medium done, and with--"