Markham had called him a lad; but in reality he was
almost middle-aged, with the stunted stature of a child. Adrien looked
him over critically.
"So you ride the 'King' to-morrow?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," replied the dwarf humbly.
"Let me see you take him round the paddock," said Adrien. The man threw
off his coat, showing himself to be in shabby riding costume; then,
vaulting into the saddle, he took the racer to the meadow at the back of
the stable-yard. Adrien watched the bird-like flight of the superb
animal, and nodded approvingly when he presently returned to the
starting-point.
"You'll do," he said, as the jockey dismounted; "ride like that
to-morrow, and we shall win. There is something for you, but no
drinking, mind."
He held out a ten-pound note as he spoke. The man stared at it for a
moment, then crouching almost like a dog, took it gingerly by the edge.
"Don't be afraid, man; one would think you expected a blow," said
Adrien, with a smile.
Touching his forelock, the man took the note, and Adrien turned away. As
he walked out of the stable-yard he happened to glance back at Markham,
who was re-covering the "King," and he saw that the jockey was still
gazing after him, with a tense, almost longing expression in his small,
deep-set eyes.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100