Lord Hippo suffered fearful loss
By putting money on a horse
Which he believed, if it were pressed,
Would run far faster than the rest:
For
someone who was in the know
Had confidently told him so.
But
on the morning of the race
It only took
the seventh place!
Picture the Viscount's great surprise!
He scarcely could believe his eyes!
He sought the Individual who
Had laid him odds at 9 to 2,
Suggesting as a useful tip
That they should enter Partnership
And put to joint account the debt
Arising from his foolish bet.
But when the Bookie—oh! my word,
I only wish you could have heard
The way he roared he did not think,
And hoped that they might strike him pink!
Lord Hippo simply turned and ran
From this infuriated man.
Despairing, maddened and distraught
He utterly collapsed and sought
His sire,
the Earl of Potamus,
And brokenly addressed him thus:
"Dread Sire—to-day—at Ascot—I ..."
His genial parent made reply:
Come! Come! Come! Come! Don't look so glum!
Trust your Papa and name the sum....
What?
... Fifteen hundred thousand?... Hum!
However ... stiffen up, you wreck;
Boys will be boys—so here's the cheque!
Lord Hippo, feeling deeply—well,
More grateful than he cared to tell—
Punted the lot on Little Nell:—
And got a telegram at dinner
To say
that he had backed the Winner!
