Rujub, the Juggler. Henty George Alfred

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СКАЧАТЬ cellar of wine, carriages for the use of guests—in fact, he does the thing really handsomely.”

      “Here is my opera glass,” Mrs. Hunter said. Isobel looked long and fixedly at the Rajah.

      “Well, what do you think of him?” the Doctor asked as she lowered it.

      “I do not know what to think of him,” she said; “his face does not tell me anything, it is like looking at a mask; but you see I am not accustomed to read brown men’s characters, they are so different from Europeans, their faces all seem so impassive. I suppose it is the way in which they are brought up and trained.”

      “Ages of tyranny have made them supple and deceitful,” the Doctor said, “but of course less so here than among the Bengallies, who, being naturally unwarlike and cowardly, have always been the slaves of some master or other.

      “You evidently don’t like the Nana, Miss Hannay. I am rather glad you don’t, for he is no great favorite of mine, though he is so generally popular in the station here. I don’t like him because it is not natural that he should be so friendly with us. We undoubtedly, according to native notions, robbed him of one of the finest positions in India by refusing to acknowledge his adoption. We have given him a princely revenue, but that, after all, is a mere trifle to what he would have had as Peishwa. Whatever virtues the natives of this country possess, the forgiving of injuries is not among them, and therefore I consider it to be altogether unnatural that he, having been, as he at any rate and everyone round him must consider, foully wronged, should go out of his way to affect our society and declare the warmest friendship for us.”

      The Rajah was laughing and talking with General Wheeler and the group of officers round his carriage.

      Again Isobel raised the glasses. “You are right, Doctor,” she said, “I don’t like him.”

      “Well, there is one comfort, it doesn’t matter whether he is sincere or not, he is powerless to hurt us. I don’t see any motive for his pretending to be friendly if he is not, but I own that I should like him better if he sulked and would have nothing to say to us, as would be the natural course.”

      The bell now began to ring, and the native police cleared the course. Major Hannay and Mr. Hunter, who had driven over in the buggy, came up and took their places on the box of the carriage.

      “Here are cards of the races,” he said. “Now is the time, young ladies, to make your bets.”

      “I don’t know even the name of anyone in this first race,” Isobel said, looking at the card.

      “That doesn’t matter in the least, Miss Hannay,” Wilson, who had just come up to the side of the carriage, said. “There are six horses in; you pick out any one you like, and I will lay you five pairs of gloves to one against him.”

      “But how am I to pick out when I don’t know anything about them, Mr. Wilson? I might pick out one that had no chance at all.”

      “Yes; but you might pick out the favorite, Miss Hannay, so that it is quite fair.”

      “Don’t you bet, Isobel,” her uncle said. “Let us have a sweepstake instead.”

      “What is a sweepstake, uncle?”

      There was a general laugh.

      “Well, my dear, we each put in a rupee. There are six of us, and there are Wilson and the Doctor. You will go in, Doctor, won’t you?”

      “Yes; I don’t mind throwing away a rupee, Major.”

      “Very well, that makes eight. We put eight pieces of paper in the hat. Six of them have got the names of the horses on, the other two are blank. Then we each pull out one. Whoever draws the name of the horse that wins takes five rupees, the holder of the second two, and the third saves his stake. You shall hold the stakes, Mrs. Hunter. We have all confidence in you.”

      The slips were drawn.

      “My horse is Bruce,” Isobel said.

      “There he is, Miss Hannay,” Wilson, who had drawn a blank, said, as a horse whose rider had a straw colored jacket and cap came cantering along the course. “This is a race for country horses—owners up. That means ridden by their owners. That is Pearson of the 13th Native Cavalry. He brought the horse over from Lucknow.”

      “What chance has he?”

      “I have not the least idea, Miss Hannay. I did not hear any betting on this race at all.”

      “That is a nice horse, uncle,” Isobel said, as one with a rider in black jacket, with red cap, came past.

      “That is Delhi. Yes, it has good action.”

      “That is mine,” the eldest Miss Hunter said.

      “The rider is a good looking young fellow,” the Doctor said, “and is perfectly conscious of it himself. Who is he, Wilson? I don’t know him.”

      “He is a civilian. Belongs to the public works, I think.”

      The other horses now came along, and after short preliminary canters the start was made. To Isobel’s disappointment her horse was never in the race, which Delhi looked like winning until near the post, when a rather common looking horse, which had been lying a short distance behind him, came up with a rush and won by a length.

      “I don’t call that fair,” Miss Hunter said, “when the other was first all along. I call that a mean way of winning, don’t you, father?”

      “Well, no, my dear. It was easy to see for the last quarter of a mile that the other was making what is called ‘a waiting race’ of it, and was only biding his time. There is nothing unfair in that, I fancy Delhi might have won if he had had a better jockey. His rider never really called upon him till it was too late. He was so thoroughly satisfied with himself and his position in the race that he was taken completely by surprise when Moonshee came suddenly up to him.”

      “Well, I think it is very hard upon Delhi, father, after keeping ahead all the way and going so nicely. I think everyone ought to do their best from the first.”

      “I fancy you are thinking, Miss Hunter,” the Doctor said, “quite as much that it is hard on you being beaten after your hopes had been raised, as it is upon the horse.”

      “Perhaps I am, Doctor,” she admitted.

      “I think it is much harder on me,” Isobel said. “You have had the satisfaction of thinking all along that your horse was going to win, while mine never gave me the least bit of hope.”

      “The proper expression, Miss Hannay, is, your horse never flattered you.”

      “Then I think it is a very silly expression, Mr. Wilson, because I don’t see that flattery has anything to do with it.”

      “Ah, here is Bathurst,” the Doctor said. “Where have you been, Bathurst? You slipped away from me just now.”

      “I’ve just been talking to the Commissioner, Doctor. I have been trying to get him to see—”

      “Why, you don’t mean to say,” the Doctor broke in, “that you have been trying to cram your theories down his throat on a racecourse?”

      “It was before the race began,” Bathurst said, “and I don’t think СКАЧАТЬ