That evening, in the loose-box down at Royallieu, Forest King stoodwithout any body-covering, for the night was close and sultry, a lock ofthe sweetest hay unnoticed in his rack, and his favorite wheaten-gruelstanding uncared-for under his very nose; the King was in the heightof excitation, alarm, and haughty wrath. His ears were laid flat to hishead, his nostrils were distended, his eyes were glancing uneasily witha nervous, angry fire rare in him, and ever and anon he lashed out hisheels with a tremendous thundering thud against the opposite wall, witha force that reverberated through the stables and made his companionsstart and edge away. It was precisely these companions that thearistocratic hero of the Soldiers' Blue Ribbon scornfully abhorred.
They had just been looking him over--to their own imminent peril; andthe patrician winner of the Vase, the brilliant six-year-old of Paris,and Shire and Spa steeple-chase fame, the knightly descendant of theWhite Cockade blood and of the coursers of Circassia, had resented thefamiliarity proportionately to his own renown and dignity. The King wasa very sweet-tempered horse, a perfect temper, indeed, and ductile toa touch from those he loved; but he liked very few, and would sufferliberties from none. And of a truth his prejudices were very just; andif his clever heels had caught--and it was not his fault that theydid not--the heads of his two companions, instead of coming with thatponderous crash into the panels of his box, society would certainly havebeen no loser, and his owner would have gained more than had ever beforehung in the careless balance of his life.
But the iron heels, with their shining plates, only caught the oak ofhis box-door; and the tete-a-tete in the sultry, oppressive night wenton as the speakers moved to a prudent distance; one of them thoughtfullychewing a bit of straw, after the immemorial habit of grooms, who everseem as if they had been born into this world with a cornstalk ready intheir mouths.
"It's almost a pity--he's in such perfect condition. Tip-top. Cool asa cucumber after the longest pipe-opener; licks his oats up to the lastgrain; leads the whole string such a rattling spin as never was spunbut by a Derby cracker before him. It's almost a pity," said Willonmeditatively, eyeing his charge, the King, with remorseful glances.
"Prut-tush-tish!" said his companion, with a whistle in his teeth thatended with a "damnation!" "It'll only knock him over for the race; he'llbe right as a trivet after it. What's your little game; coming it softlike that, all of a sudden? You hate that ere young swell like p'ison."
"Aye," assented the head groom with a tigerish energy, viciouslyconsuming his bit of straw. "What for am I--head groom come nigh twentyyears; and to Markisses and Wiscounts afore him--put aside in that ereway for a fellow as he's took into his service out of the dregs of aregiment; what was tied up at the triangles and branded D, as I know on,and sore suspected of even worse games than that, and now is that setup with pride and sich-like that nobody's woice ain't heard here excepthis; I say what am I called on to bear it for?": and the head groom'stones grew hoarse and vehement, roaring louder under his injuries. "Aman what's attended a Duke's 'osses ever since he was a shaver, to beput aside for that workhus blackguard! A 'oss had a cold--it's Rakewhat's to cure him. A 'oss is entered for a race--it's Rake what's toorder his morning gallops, and his go-downs o' water. It's past bearingto have a rascally chap what's been and gone and turned walet, set upover one's head in one's own establishment, and let to ride the high'oss over one, roughshod like that!"
And Mr. Willon, in his disgust at the equestrian contumely thus heapedon him, bit the straw savagely in two, and made an end of it, with avindictive "Will yer be quiet there; blow yer," to the King, who wasprotesting with his heels against the conversation.
"Come, then, no gammon," growled his companion--the "cousin out o'Yorkshire" of the keeper's tree.
"What's yer figure, you say?" relented Willon meditatively.
"Two thousand to nothing--come!--can't no handsomer," retorted theYorkshire cousin, with the air of a man conscious of behaving verynobly.
"For the race in Germany?" pursued Mr. Willon, still meditatively.
"Two thousand to nothing--come!" reiterated the other, with his armsfolded to intimate that this and nothing else was the figure to which hewould bind himself.
Willon chewed another bit of straw, glanced at the horse as though hewere a human thing to hear, to witness, and to judge, grew a littlepale; and stooped forward.
"Hush! Somebody'll spy on us. It's a bargain."
"Done! And you'll paint him, eh?"
"Yes--I'll--paint him."
The assent was very husky, and dragged slowly out, while his eyesglanced with a furtive, frightened glance over the loose-box.Then--still with that cringing, terrified look backward to the horse,as an assassin may steal a glance before his deed at his unconsciousvictim--the head groom and his comrade went out and closed the door ofthe loose-box and passed into the hot, lowering summer night.
Forest King, left in solitude, shook himself with a neigh; took arefreshing roll in the straw, and turned with an appetite to hisneglected gruel. Unhappily for himself, his fine instincts could notteach him the conspiracy that lay in wait for him and his; and thegallant beast, content to be alone, soon slept the sleep of therighteous.