It was the eve of the great race, and scarcely a member of Lady
Susan's house-party had as yet a single bet on. It was one of
those unsatisfactory years when one horse held a commanding market
position, not by reason of any general belief in its crushing
superiority, but because it was extremely difficult to pitch on
any other candidate to whom to pin ones faith. Peradventure II
was the favourite, not in the sense of being a popular fancy, but
by virtue of a lack of confidence in any one of his rather
undistinguished rivals. The brains of clubland were much
exercised in seeking out possible merit where none was very
obvious to the naked intelligence, and the house-party at Lady
Susan's was possessed by the same uncertainty and irresolution
that infected wider circles.
"It is just the time for bringing off a good coup," said Bertie
van Tahn.
"Undoubtedly. But with what?" demanded Clovis for the twentieth
time.
The women of the party were just as keenly interested in the
matter, and just as helplessly perplexed; even the mother of
Clovis, who usually got good racing information from her
dressmaker, confessed herself fancy free on this occasion.
Colonel Drake, who was professor of military history at a minor
cramming establishment, was the only person who had a definite
selection for the event, but as his choice varied every three
hours he was worse than useless as an inspired guide. The
crowning difficulty of the problem was that it could only be
fitfully and furtively discussed. Lady Susan disapproved of
racing. She disapproved of many things; some people went as far
as to say that she disapproved of most things. Disapproval was to
her what neuralgia and fancy needlework are to many other women.
She disapproved of early morning tea and auction bridge, of ski-
ing and the two-step, of the Russian ballet and the Chelsea Arts
Club ball, of the French policy in Morocco and the British policy
everywhere. It was not that she was particularly strict or narrow
in her views of life, but she had been the eldest sister of a
large family of self-indulgent children, and her particular form
of indulgence had consisted in openly disapproving of the foibles
of the others. Unfortunately the hobby had grown up with her. As
she was rich, influential, and very, very kind, most people were
content to count their early tea as well lost on her behalf.
Still, the necessity for hurriedly dropping the discussion of an
enthralling topic, and suppressing all mention of it during her
presence on the scene, was an affliction at a moment like the
present, when time was slipping away and indecision was the
prevailing note.
After a lunch-time of rather strangled and uneasy conversation,
Clovis managed to get most of the party together at the further
end of the kitchen gardens, on the pretext of admiring the
Himalayan pheasants. He had made an important discovery. Motkin,
the butler, who (as Clovis expressed it) had grown prematurely
grey in Lady Susan's service, added to his other excellent
qualities an intelligent interest in matters connected with the
Turf. On the subject of the forthcoming race he was not
illuminating, except in so far that he shared the prevailing
unwillingness to see a winner in Peradventure II. But where he
outshone all the members of the house-party was in the fact that
he had a second cousin who was head stable-lad at a neighbouring
racing establishment, and usually gifted with much inside
information as to private form and possibilities. Only the fact
of her ladyship having taken it into her head to invite a house-
party for the last week of May had prevented Mr. Motkin from
paying a visit of consultation to his relative with respect to the
big race; there was still time to cycle over if he could get leave
of absence for the afternoon on some specious excuse.
"Let's jolly well hope he does," said Bertie van Tahn; "under the
circumstances a second cousin is almost as useful as second
sight."
"That stable ought to know something, if knowledge is to be found
anywhere," said Mrs. Packletide hopefully.
"I expect you'll find he'll echo my fancy for Motorboat," said
Colonel Drake.
At this moment the subject had to be hastily dropped. Lady Susan
bore down upon them, leaning on the arm of Clovis's mother, to
whom she was confiding the fact that she disapproved of the craze
for Pekingese spaniels. It was the third thing she had found time
to disapprove of since lunch, without counting her silent and
permanent disapproval of the way Clovis's mother did her hair.
"We have been admiring the Himalayan pheasants," said Mrs.
Packletide suavely.
"They went off to a bird-show at Nottingham early this morning,"
said Lady Susan, with the air of one who disapproves of hasty and
ill-considered lying.
"Their house, I mean; such perfect roosting arrangements, and all
so clean," resumed Mrs. Packletide, with an increased glow of
enthusiasm. The odious Bertie van Tahn was murmuring audible
prayers for Mrs. Packletide's ultimate estrangement from the paths
of falsehood.
"I hope you don't mind dinner being a quarter of an hour late to-
night," said Lady Susan; "Motkin has had an urgent summons to go
and see a sick relative this afternoon. He wanted to bicycle
there, but I am sending him in the motor."
"How very kind of you! Of course we don't mind dinner being put
off." The assurances came with unanimous and hearty sincerity.
At the dinner-table that night an undercurrent of furtive
curiosity directed itself towards Motkin's impassive countenance.
One or two of the guests almost expected to find a slip of paper
concealed in their napkins, bearing the name of the second
cousin's selection. They had not long to wait. As the butler
went round with the murmured question, "Sherry?" he added in an
even lower tone the cryptic words, "Better not." Mrs. Packletide
gave a start of alarm, and refused the sherry; there seemed some
sinister suggestion in the butler's warning, as though her hostess
had suddenly become addicted to the Borgia habit. A moment later
the explanation flashed on her that "Better Not" was the name of
one of the runners in the big race. Clovis was already pencilling
it on his cuff, and Colonel Drake, in his turn, was signalling to
every one in hoarse whispers and dumb-show the fact that he had
all along fancied "B.N."
Early next morning a sheaf of telegrams went Townward,
representing the market commands of the house-party and servants'
hall.
It was a wet afternoon, and most of Lady Susan's guests hung about
the hall, waiting apparently for the appearance of tea, though it
was scarcely yet due. The advent of a telegram quickened every
one into a flutter of expectancy; the page who brought the
telegram to Clovis waited with unusual alertness to know if there
might be an answer.
Clovis read the message and gave an exclamation of annoyance.
"No bad news, I hope," said Lady Susan. Every one else knew that
the news was not good.
"It's only the result of the Derby," he blurted out; "Sadowa won;
an utter outsider."
"Sadowa!" exclaimed Lady Susan; "you don't say so! How
remarkable! It's the first time I've ever backed a horse; in fact
I disapprove of horse-racing, but just for once in a way I put
money on this horse, and it's gone and won."
"May I ask," said Mrs. Packletide, amid the general silence, "why
you put your money on this particular horse. None of the sporting
prophets mentioned it as having an outside chance."
"Well," said Lady Susan, "you may laugh at me, but it was the name
that attracted me. You see, I was always mixed up with the
Franco-German war; I was married on the day that the war was
declared, and my eldest child was born the day that peace was
signed, so anything connected with the war has always interested
me. And when I saw there was a horse running in the Derby called
after one of the battles in the Franco-German war, I said I MUST
put some money on it, for once in a way, though I disapprove of
racing. And it's actually won."
There was a general groan. No one groaned more deeply than the
professor of military history.
_________
-THE END-
[Hector Munro] Saki's short story: A Matter Of Sentiment
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