A Matter of Sentiment

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　It was the eve of the great race, and scarcely a member of LadySusan's house-party had as yet a single bet on. It was one ofthose unsatisfactory years when one horse held a commanding marketposition, not by reason of any general belief in its crushingsuperiority, but because it was extremely difficult to pitch onany other candidate to whom to pin ones faith. Peradventure IIwas the favourite, not in the sense of being a popular fancy, butby virtue of a lack of confidence in any one of his ratherundistinguished rivals. The brains of clubland were muchexercised in seeking out possible merit where none was veryobvious to the naked intelligence, and the house-party at LadySusan's was possessed by the same uncertainty and irresolutionthat infected wider circles."It is just the time for bringing off a good coup," said Bertievan Tahn."Undoubtedly. But with what?" demanded Clovis for the twentiethtime.The women of the party were just as keenly interested in thematter, and just as helplessly perplexed; even the mother ofClovis, who usually got good racing information from herdressmaker, confessed herself fancy free on this occasion.Colonel Drake, who was professor of military history at a minorcramming establishment, was the only person who had a definiteselection for the event, but as his choice varied every threehours he was worse than useless as an inspired guide. Thecrowning difficulty of the problem was that it could only befitfully and furtively discussed. Lady Susan disapproved ofracing. She disapproved of many things; some people went as faras to say that she disapproved of most things. Disapproval was toher 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 ArtsClub ball, of the French policy in Morocco and the British policyeverywhere. It was not that she was particularly strict or narrowin her views of life, but she had been the eldest sister of alarge family of self-indulgent children, and her particular formof indulgence had consisted in openly disapproving of the foiblesof the others. Unfortunately the hobby had grown up with her. Asshe was rich, influential, and very, very kind, most people werecontent to count their early tea as well lost on her behalf.Still, the necessity for hurriedly dropping the discussion of anenthralling topic, and suppressing all mention of it during herpresence on the scene, was an affliction at a moment like thepresent, when time was slipping away and indecision was theprevailing note.After a lunch-time of rather strangled and uneasy conversation,Clovis managed to get most of the party together at the furtherend of the kitchen gardens, on the pretext of admiring theHimalayan pheasants. He had made an important discovery. Motkin,the butler, who (as Clovis expressed it) had grown prematurelygrey in Lady Susan's service, added to his other excellentqualities an intelligent interest in matters connected with theTurf. On the subject of the forthcoming race he was notilluminating, except in so far that he shared the prevailingunwillingness to see a winner in Peradventure II. But where heoutshone all the members of the house-party was in the fact thathe had a second cousin who was head stable-lad at a neighbouringracing establishment, and usually gifted with much insideinformation as to private form and possibilities. Only the factof her ladyship having taken it into her head to invite a house-party for the last week of May had prevented Mr. Motkin frompaying a visit of consultation to his relative with respect to thebig race; there was still time to cycle over if he could get leaveof absence for the afternoon on some specious excuse."Let's jolly well hope he does," said Bertie van Tahn; "under thecircumstances a second cousin is almost as useful as secondsight.""That stable ought to know something, if knowledge is to be foundanywhere," said Mrs. Packletide hopefully."I expect you'll find he'll echo my fancy for Motorboat," saidColonel Drake.At this moment the subject had to be hastily dropped. Lady Susanbore down upon them, leaning on the arm of Clovis's mother, towhom she was confiding the fact that she disapproved of the crazefor Pekingese spaniels. It was the third thing she had found timeto disapprove of since lunch, without counting her silent andpermanent 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 andill-considered lying."Their house, I mean; such perfect roosting arrangements, and allso clean," resumed Mrs. Packletide, with an increased glow ofenthusiasm. The odious Bertie van Tahn was murmuring audibleprayers for Mrs. Packletide's ultimate estrangement from the pathsof 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 goand see a sick relative this afternoon. He wanted to bicyclethere, but I am sending him in the motor.""How very kind of you! Of course we don't mind dinner being putoff." The assurances came with unanimous and hearty sincerity.At the dinner-table that night an undercurrent of furtivecuriosity directed itself towards Motkin's impassive countenance.One or two of the guests almost expected to find a slip of paperconcealed in their napkins, bearing the name of the secondcousin's selection. They had not long to wait. As the butlerwent round with the murmured question, "Sherry?" he added in aneven lower tone the cryptic words, "Better not." Mrs. Packletidegave a start of alarm, and refused the sherry; there seemed somesinister suggestion in the butler's warning, as though her hostesshad suddenly become addicted to the Borgia habit. A moment laterthe explanation flashed on her that "Better Not" was the name ofone of the runners in the big race. Clovis was already pencillingit on his cuff, and Colonel Drake, in his turn, was signalling toevery one in hoarse whispers and dumb-show the fact that he hadall 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 aboutthe hall, waiting apparently for the appearance of tea, though itwas scarcely yet due. The advent of a telegram quickened everyone into a flutter of expectancy; the page who brought thetelegram to Clovis waited with unusual alertness to know if theremight 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 thatthe 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! Howremarkable! It's the first time I've ever backed a horse; in factI disapprove of horse-racing, but just for once in a way I putmoney on this horse, and it's gone and won.""May I ask," said Mrs. Packletide, amid the general silence, "whyyou put your money on this particular horse. None of the sportingprophets mentioned it as having an outside chance.""Well," said Lady Susan, "you may laugh at me, but it was the namethat attracted me. You see, I was always mixed up with theFranco-German war; I was married on the day that the war wasdeclared, and my eldest child was born the day that peace wassigned, so anything connected with the war has always interestedme. And when I saw there was a horse running in the Derby calledafter one of the battles in the Franco-German war, I said I MUSTput some money on it, for once in a way, though I disapprove ofracing. And it's actually won."There was a general groan. No one groaned more deeply than theprofessor of military history.