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"I really must have a chat with Colonel Hesmon
about it. By the way, the dear old boy's asked us both
to lunch to-morrow."

This led to a rhapsody about that absolutely top-
hole performer Jerry, who had been given him by the
Colonel after he'd won the Heavy Weight Race. My
Harkaway, on the other hand, was more a subject for
solicitude, and I reluctantly confessed that he didn't
seem up to my weight. It was a thousand pities, said
Stephen, that I couldn't have bought that six-year-old
of young Lewison's. "Given him for his twenty-first
birthday by his uncle, who'd forked out  170 for him.
But young Lewison couldn't ride a hair of the horse,
though he was a nailing fine 'leppcr' and a rare
good sort at that. They sent him up to Tatts last
week, and he went for 90, according to the paper.
Gosh, what a bit of luck for the cove who got him so.

My appetite for horseflesh was stimulated by this
anecdote, but I wondered what Mr. Pennett would
say if I wrote and told him that I'd bought another
ninety pounds' worth! For Mr. Pennett still refused
to allow me more than 450 of my 600. The
balance, he said, must be "invested for a rainy day".

Stephen's visionary contemplations of "being
stationed at the Curragh and riding at Punchestown
Races" were interrupted by our arrival at the Rectory.
I had stayed there more than once in the summer, so
I received a surly but not unfriendly salute from Abel,
the grim little old groom with iron-grey whiskers who
led our conveyance soberly away to the stable-yard.
This groom was an old-fashioned coachman, and he