He has got his head into an old gold-banded military
foraging-cap, which comes down almost on to the rims of his great
tortoise-shell spectacles. Lord Scamperdale stands with his hand on the
horse's mane, talking earnestly to Jack, doubtless giving him his final
instructions. Other jockeys emerge from various parts of the
farm-buildings; some out of stables; some out of cow-houses; others from
beneath cart-sheds. The scene becomes enlivened with the varied colours of
the riders--red, yellow, green, blue, violet, and stripes without end. Then
comes the usual difficulty of identifying the parties, many of whose
mothers wouldn't know them.
'That's Captain Tongs,' observes Miss Simperley, 'in the blue. I remember
dancing with him at Bath, and he did nothing but talk about
steeple-chasing.'
'And who's that in yellow?' asks Miss Hardy.
'That's Captain Gander,' replies the gentleman on her left.
'Well, I think he'll win,' replies the lady.
'I'll bet you a pair of gloves he doesn't,' snaps Miss Moore, who fancies
Captain Pusher, in the pink.
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