The Amateur Gentleman

"And is the Viscount much hurt?"

"Why no, sir. And it were only 'is whip-arm. 'Urts a bit o' course,

but 'e managed to write you a letter, 'e did; an' 'ere it is."

So Barnabas took the letter, and holding it in the moonlight where

Cleone could see it, they, together, made out these words: MY DEAR BEV,--There is durty work afoot. Some Raskells have tried

to lame 'Moonraker,' but thanks to my Imp and your man Martin, quite

unsuccessfully. How-beit your man Martin--regular game for all his

years--has a broken nob and one ogle closed up, and I a ball through

my arm, but nothing to matter. But I am greatly pirtirbed for the

safety of 'Moonraker' and mean to get him into safer quarters and

advise you to do likewise. Also, though your horse 'The Terror,' as

the stable-boys call him, is not even in the betting, it almost seems,

from what I can gather, that they meant to nobble him also.

Therefore I think you were wiser to return at once, and I am anxious

to see you on another matter as well. Your bets with Carnaby and

Chichester have somehow got about and are the talk of the town, and

from what I hear, much to your disparagement, I fear.

A pity to shorten your stay in the country, but under the

circumstances, most advisable.

Yours ever, etc., DICK.

P.S. My love and service to the Duchess, Cleone and the Capt.

Now here Barnabas looked at Cleone, and sighed, and Cleone sighing

also, nodded her head: "You must go," said she, very softly, and sighed again.

"Yes, I must go, and yet--it is so very soon, Cleone!"

"Yes, it is dreadfully soon, Barnabas. But what does he mean by

saying that people are talking of you to your disparagement? How

dare they? Why should they?"

"I think because I, a rank outsider, ventured to lay a wager against

Sir Mortimer Carnaby."

"Do you mean you bet him that you would win the race, Barnabas?"

"No,--only that I would beat Sir Mortimer Carnaby."

"But, oh Barnabas,--he is the race! Surely you know he and the

Viscount are favorites?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Then you do think you can win?"

"I mean to try--very hard!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown a

little.

"And I begin to think," said Cleone, struck by his resolute eyes and

indomitable mouth, "oh, Barnabas--I begin to think you--almost may."

"And if I did?"

"Then I should be very--proud of you."

"And if I lost?"

"Then you would be--"

"Yes?"

"Just--"

"Yes, Cleone?"

"My, Barnabas! Ah, no, no!" she whispered suddenly, "you are

crushing me--dreadfully, and besides, that boy has terribly sharp

eyes!" and Cleone nodded to where Master Milo stood, some distance

away, with his innocent orbs lifted pensively towards the heavens,

more like a cherub than ever.