"He's a pompous old fool," she said to Brack when he was out of the house.

Brack laughed as he said: "You've hit it, mother; you generally do."

"An' so you're agoin' to Yorkshire," she said with a sigh. "Sometimes I wish I were back there, but it wouldn't suit me, and he's been very good to us here, Brack."

"We've nowt to grumble at," said Brack. "We're better off than lots o'

people. I may make a bit o' money at Doncaster on Leger day--you know how lucky I am over the race."

"You oughtn't to bet," she said.

"I don't. My bit isn't bettin'; I just put a shillin' on now and again for the fun of the thing. Where's the harm in that?" he asked.

"I suppose you know best, Brack, and you've always been a good son to me," she said.

"And I always shall, have no fear of that, mother." And she had not; her faith in him was unbounded.

Brack looked quite rakish, so he told himself, when he gazed in a mirror in the hat shop next day, on the way to the station. He had been to the barber's, had his whiskers and mustache trimmed, his hair cut, and a shampoo.

"I'm fresh as paint," he said to Rose, who was glad to see him so respectable. The smell of the sea hung about him, but it was tempered by some very patent hair oil which emitted an overpowering scent.

Several porters spoke to Brack, asking where he was going.

"Doncaster to see the Leger run."

They laughed and one said: "Bet you a bob you don't get farther than Exeter."

"Don't want to rob you, Tommy," was the reply. "I'll give you chaps a tip--have a shilling or two on Tearaway."

"Never heard of him."

"It's a her, not a he."

"Whose is she?"

"Mr. Woodridge's, Picton Woodridge's."

"The gentleman who rode four winners here last Easter, and won the double on The Rascal?"

"The same, and he's given me the tip."

"Nonsense!"

"Gospel," said Brack.

"You must have come into a fortune; it'll cost you a pot of money going to Doncaster."

"Mr. Woodridge is paying my expenses. He kind o' took a likin' to me when he was here; I rowed him to his yacht several times. He's one of the right sort, he is," said Brack.

"You're in luck's way," said the porter he had addressed as Tommy.

"It's men like me deserve to have luck--I'm a hard worker."

"We're all hard workers," said Tom.

"Go on! Call trundling barrers, and handlin' bags hard work? Rowin's hard work. You try it, and you'll find the difference," said Brack.

Tom laughed as he said: "You're a good sort, Brack, and I wish you success. This is your train."

Rose came up.

"I've got the tickets. Is this the London train, porter?"

"Yes, right through to Paddington," said Tom, staring as he saw Rose and Brack get in together.

"Who is he, Brack, your swell friend?" he asked.

"Him? Oh, he's a cousin from Yorkshire," grinned Brack; and Rose sank down on the seat overwhelmed.

CHAPTER XXII

DONCASTER

Brack and Rose arrived at Doncaster on the eve of the St. Leger, staying at a quiet hotel on the outskirts of the town. The railway journey from Torquay had been a source of anxiety to Rose. Brack made audible observations about the occupants of the carriage, which were resented, and Rose exercised diplomacy to keep the peace. He was horrified to see Brack pull a black bottle out of his bag.

"Beer," said Brack; "will you have some?"

Rose declined in disgust; Brack pulled at it long and l.u.s.tily, emptied it before reaching Exeter, got out there, went into the refreshment room, had it refilled, and nearly missed his train; Rose pulled, a porter pushed behind, and he stumbled in just in time; the bottle dropped on the floor, rolled under the seat, and Brack created a diversion among the pa.s.sengers by diving for it. He generously pa.s.sed it round, but no one partook of his hospitality. It was a relief to Rose when he went to sleep, but he snored so loud he thought it advisable to wake him. Brack resented this, and said he was ent.i.tled to snore if he wished.

It was with evident relief that Rose saw him go to bed. When Brack disappeared he related his misfortunes to his host, who sympathized with him to his face and laughed behind his back: he considered Brack the better man of the two.

At breakfast Rose explained what Doncaster was like in Leger week, until Brack, with his mouth crammed with ham, and half a poached egg, spurted out, "You're wastin' yer breath. I've been to see t'Leger many a time."

"Have you? I thought this was your first visit."

"And me a Yorkshireman--go on!" said Brack.

They drove to the course in the landlord's trap, arriving in good time.

"I suppose you have not been in the paddock before?" said Rose patronizingly.

"No; I've been over yonder most times," and he waved toward the crowd on the moor.

"Follow me and I will conduct you."

Brack laughed.