to get hold of the breed, and if I don’t take a cup at the Agricultural Show this year, I shall be down upon some of those judges – in the Times.”
“Ah, ’tis disappointing when you’ve set your mind upon a cup and don’t get it,” said the captain. “How many have you won, Sir John?”
“What, cups? Thirty-four, my boy, thirty-four.”
“Ah, I’ve got fifty,” said the captain, with a touch of pride in his tone. “When I go in training for anything, I always say to myself, I shall put it off, and I pretty generally do.”
“Humph! yes,” said Sir John, shortly; “so I suppose. Oh, by the way though, Rolph, you’d oblige me very much by going back to the house. I’ll show you the pigs another day.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said the young man with alacrity.
“You see there’s my brother. He thinks a great deal of Glynne, and I never like to take any important step in life without consulting him. Do you understand?”
“Well – er, not exactly.”
“Oh, I mean, just go back and see him, and say what you did to me just now.”
“What! Do you mean I must ask his consent, Sir John?” cried the young man, aghast.
“No, no, no! of course not, my dear boy. Tell him I’ve given mine, and that it’s all settled, and that you hope he approves, and – you know what to say. He’ll like it. Be right, you see. Captain to senior officer, eh? There, be off, and get it over. I must go on and see the pigs.”
“Confound the major!” said Captain Rolph, as he stopped, looking after the brisk retreating figure of the baronet. “He’ll want me to ask the housekeeper next. Hang it all! it’s almost worth more than the stakes. I did think I’d got it over. The old major’s as peppery as a curry. He’ll want to order me under arrest if he doesn’t like the engagement. Well, here goes to get it over. Let’s see; just a mile to the park gates. Pity to waste it.”
He glanced round to see if there was anyone near, but he was quite alone on the hard, sandy, retired road; so, buttoning his well-cut morning coat tightly across his chest, he tucked up his cuffs and the bottoms of his trousers, selected two smooth pebbles about as large as kidneys from a stone heap, clasped one firmly in each hand, and then thrust one in his pocket for a moment while he referred to a stop watch, replaced it, took hold of the stone once more, and then, throwing himself into position, the gentlemanly officer seemed to subside into the low-type professional walking or running man.
For a few moments he remained motionless in a statuesque attitude, his brow all in wrinkles, his teeth set, lips tight, and his chest expanded and thrown forward as if he were waiting the order to start. Then he cried, “Off!” and bounded away at a rapid rate, running hard till he reached the park gates at Brackley, where he stopped short, threw away the stones, referred to his watch, and nodded and smiled as he drew himself up – the stiff, military officer once more.
“Not bad,” he said, “and as fresh as a daisy. I could have done it in half a minute less. Now, I’ll go and see the old man.”
Captain Rolph did not “see the old man” then, for when he reached the house, the old man – that is to say, Major Day, formerly of a lancer regiment that took part in several engagements in the Sikh war, but who had long since hung up his sabre in his bedroom at Brackley – was out for a morning walk, following a pursuit in which he took great delight – to wit, gathering fungi, a family of plants that he made his study, and he was coming back with a small, bright trowel in one hand, his stout stick in the other, and a large salmon creel slung from his shoulder, when he encountered his brother, the baronet, striding away to his model farm.
Major Day was a fierce-looking, smart, officer-like man of sixty, with curly grey hair that stood out from his well-shaped head, piercing eyes, heavy dark brows, and a massive, zebra-patterned moustache, the rest of his face being closely shaven.
Perhaps “zebra-patterned” is an unusual term to give to a cavalry moustache; but this was regularly striped in black and silver grey, giving a peculiar aspect to the keen, upright, military man.
“Halt!” shouted the major. “Hallo, Jack, going to see the pigs?”
“Yes. Thought you were at home. Just sent Rolph to speak to you.”
“To speak to me? What about?”
“Oh, I thought it best, you see, being my brother, and – er – as you like Glynne, and – er – ”
“What in the name of fortune are you stammering about, Jack?” said the major, sharply. “Why, you don’t mean – ”
“That he has proposed for Glynne.”
“Damn his impudence!”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Jem,” said the baronet, testily. “He has proposed, and I have given my consent.”
“But I always thought he was to marry that second cousin, Marjorie Emlin.”
“Doesn’t look like it. Never seemed very warm when they dined here.”
“But – but it’s so unexpected, so sudden. And Glynne?” cried the major, flushing, and bringing his heavy brows down over his eyes; “she hasn’t accepted him?”
“Why, of course she has. Don’t be a fool, Jem,” cried the baronet, angrily.
“Fool! It’s enough to make any man a fool. What does that fellow want with a wife – to take gate-money at some meeting?”
“I do wish you wouldn’t be so prejudiced, Jem.”
“To hold the tape when he’s coming in after a footrace?”
“Hang it all, Jem, do be sensible.”
“To feed him with raw steaks when he is in training?” continued the major, ironically. “To keep time, and polish his cups, and mind that he does not break the rules of his trainer? Good heavens! Jack, why, both you and Glynne must be mad.”
“Indeed!” said the baronet, hotly. “I don’t see any madness in giving my consent to my child’s accepting the son of an old neighbour, a confoundedly fine fellow, of good birth, and with four thousand a year.”
“I don’t care if he were better of birth, and had twenty thousand a year. He wouldn’t be a fit husband for our Glynne.”
“Well, no,” said the baronet, proudly. “No man would be sufficiently good for her.”
“Who’s talking nonsense now?” cried the major. “There are lots of good fellows in the world if she wants a husband, but I don’t believe she does.”
“But she has accepted him.”
“Silly girl. Bit taken with the fine-looking fellow, that’s all. Don’t know her own mind yet. This is springing a mine.”
“Ah well, the thing’s settled, so you may just as well retreat from your position, Jem.”
“But I shall not retreat, sir. I shall hold my position as long as I can, and when I am driven back, I shall do my duty as one in command of a light cavalry regiment should: I shall harass the enemy’s flanks and rear. He’ll
