  ROSE, I am about to send you on an important mission to Torquay," said Picton. "Yes, sir." "You are to find an old boatman named Brackish, generally called Brack. He is a well-known character; there will be no difficulty about it. You will hand him this letter, and if he requires persuading you will use all your eloquence in that direction. You will give him ten pounds and pay all his expenses, and you must land him in the paddock at Doncaster at the latest on the St. Leger day. You understand?" "Yes, sir. May I ask what kind of an individual he is?" "Rough and ready. He was formerly a boatman at Scarborough. He is a Yorkshireman. He will don his best clothes; perhaps he will require a new pilot coat—if he does, buy him one." "And what am I to do when I land him in the paddock, sir?" "Wait until I see him." "Very good, sir. Is that all?" "Yes, I think so. Look after him well; he once did me a good turn. You'll find him interesting, also amusing." "When shall I go, sir?" "To-morrow; that will give you ample time—a day or two in Torquay will be a pleasant change." "Thank you, sir; it will," said Rose. "Come to me in my study to-night and I will give you the money," said Picton. Robert Rose thought, as he watched him walk away: "I hope he doesn't expect me to make a friend of the man. No doubt he'll smell of the sea, and fish, tar, oil-skins, and other beastly things; it won't be a pleasant journey—we shall have to put the windows down. I wonder if he washes, or whether he's caked with dirt, like some of 'em I've seen. It's coming to a pretty pass when I am dispatched on such an errand." He complained to Mrs. Yeoman but got no sympathy. "If Brack's good enough for your master he's good enough for you," she snapped, and he thought it advisable not to pursue the subject farther. Rose arrived in Torquay in due course, late at night, after a tiring journey. Next morning he went forth in quest of Brack. A policeman pointed Rose walked up to him, putting on his best air. Brack saw him and summed him up at once. "Somebody's flunkey," he thought. "Are you Mr. Brackish?" asked Rose in a patronizing manner. "I'm Brack, name Brackish, don't know about the mister, seldom hear it used when I'm addressed. Now who may you be, my good man?" said Brack, mischief lurking in his eyes. To be addressed by this clod of a boatman as "my good man" quite upset Rose's dignity. He put on a severe look, which did not abash Brack in the least, and said: "I am from Haverton in Yorkshire. I represent Mr. Picton Woodridge. He desired me to see you and deliver this letter," and he handed it to him. Brack took it, opened the envelope, and handed it back. "I've lost my glasses," he said; "must have left them in 'The Sailor's Rest' last night. Me an' a mate had a few pints more than we oughter. Why "It suited Mr. Woodridge's purpose better that I should personally deliver it. I will read it to you if you wish." "That's what I gave it to you for," said Brack. Rose read the letter. It was written in a kind and friendly way; Robert thought it too familiar. Brack listened attentively; at first he hardly grasped the full meaning. "Would you mind reading it again?" he asked. Rose did so with ill-concealed impatience; then said: "Now do you understand its import, or shall I explain more fully?" "Don't trouble yourself. I wouldn't trouble such an almighty high personage as yourself for the world," said Brack. "No trouble at all, I assure you," said Rose. "As far as I understand," said Brack, "I'm to put myself in your charge and you are to convey me safely to Doncaster to see the Leger run for." "That's it; we will leave to-morrow," said Rose. "Will we? Who said I was goin'?" asked Brack. "Of course you'll go; Mr. Picton wishes it." "He ain't my master, just you remember. Brack's got no master. I'm my own boss, and a pretty stiff job I have with myself at times. Last night, for instance. As boss I ordered myself home at ten; "But he will be very much disappointed if you don't go to Doncaster with me. All your expenses will be paid. You'll have ten pounds to invest on the course, and you'll back Tearaway, say at twenty to one to a fiver," said Rose. "Shall I indeed? And pray who says Tearaway will win the Leger?" "I do," said Rose confidently. "And I suppose that settles it. If you say so, she must win." "Mr. Picton says she will; so does Sir Robert Raines." "Do they now? And I'm to take all this for gospel?" "It's quite correct. They have all backed Tearaway to win large sums, thousands of pounds," said Rose. "Well, it's worth considering," said Brack. He wondered if Hector Woodridge were at Haverton. It was not mentioned in the letter. Perhaps this man did not know him; he would keep quiet about it. "You'll have to make up your mind quick because we must leave early in the morning. I was instructed to buy you a new coat, or any other thing you wanted." "That's handsome; I'll accept the coat, a blue pilot, and a pair of boots, a tie, and a cap. I've got a fancy waistcoat my father used to wear. It's all over flowers and it's got pearl buttons. It's a knock-out; you'll admire it—perhaps you'd like to borrow it," said Brack. Rose declined, said he would not deprive Brack of it for worlds. "You'll come with me?" he asked. "Oh, yes; I'll come to oblige Mr. Woodridge; he's a gent and no mistake. Will you come and see my old mother?" Rose thought it would be diplomatic to do so. Evidently Brack was a man who wanted humoring; it was humiliating, but he must go through with it. Old Mrs. Brackish welcomed the visitor, dusted a chair for him, treated him with apparent deference which soothed Rose's feelings. He declined to remain for dinner, making as an excuse that he never ate anything until evening, it did not agree with him, the mid-day meal. When he left it was with a sense of relief. "The mother is better than the son," he thought; "she knew what was due to my position." "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 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. |
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