It turned out afterwards that he’d met them at an inn on the mountains, and helped them to doctor one of their leaders that had been griped. So they took a fancy to him, and, being free-hearted sort of fellows, asked him to keep them company in the drag, and let one of the grooms ride his horse. Once he started he kept them alive, you may be sure, and by the time they got to Turon they were ready to go round the world with him, and swore they’d never met such a man in their lives—very likely they hadn’t, either. He was introduced to the judge and the stewards and the Commissioner and the police magistrate, and as much fuss made over him as if he was the Governor’s son. It was as good as a play. I got up as near as I dared once or twice, and I couldn’t hardly keep from bursting out laughing when I saw how grave he talked and drawled and put up his eyeglass, and every now and then made ‘em all laugh, or said something reminded him of India, where he’d last come from.

Well, that was a regular fizzer of a spree, if we never had another. The racing was very fair, and, as luck would have it, the Dawson horses won all the big money, and, as they started at longish odds, they must have made a pot of money, and Starlight, too, as he’d gone in a docker for their stable. This made them better friends than ever, and it was Dawson here and Lascelles there all over the course.

Well, the day went over at last, and all of them that liked a little fun and dancing better than heavy drinking made it up to go to the race ball. It was a subscription affair—guinea tickets, just to keep out the regular roughs; and the proceeds to go to the Turon Jockey Club Fund. All the swells would go, of course, and, though they knew it would be a crush and pretty mixed, as I heard Starlight say, the loom was large, the band was good, and they expected to get a fair share of dancing after an hour or so.