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"Oh, that thing of Hart's," says someone else. But the Oracle hears them not; he is looking in the mass of colour for a purple cap and grey jacket, with black arm bands. He cannot see it anywhere, and the confused and confusing mass swings round the turn into the straight. Then there is a babel of voices, and suddenly a shout of "Bendemeer!
He finds that the favourite is at two to one, and Royal Scot at threes, eight to one being offered against anything else. "What are you backing?" he says. "Favourite and Royal Scot," says the Oracle. "Put a pound on Bendemeer," says the tipster. "It's a certainty. Meet me here if it comes off, and I'll tell you something for the next race. Don't miss it now. Get on quick!"
It was in the days of my own youth, then, that I met one or two of the characters who are to figure in this history, and whom I must ask leave to accompany for a short while, and until, familiarised with the public, they can make their own way. As I recall them the roses bloom again, and the nightingales sing by the calm Bendemeer.
The Oracle is humble enough before the hanger-on of the turf. A bookmaker roars "10 to 1 Bendemeer;" he suddenly fishes out a sovereign of his own and he hasn't money to spare, for all his knowingness and puts it on Bendemeer. His friends' money he puts on the favourite and Royal Scot as arranged. Then they all go round to watch the race.
Tell me, are the nightingales still singing there, and do the roses still bloom?" "The HWHAT?" cries Blake. "What the divvle, Fitz, are you growling about? Bendemeer Lake's in Westmoreland, as I preshume; and as for roses and nightingales, I give ye my word it's Greek ye're talking to me."
"She won't refuse," he said. James must be told, of course. He took it quietly. "Yes, on the whole yes. I don't think you can refuse him that. It will try you." "It will be horrid but anyhow you know everything he can say." "He doesn't know that I do. He'll build on that." "Build!" said Lucy quickly. "What sort of building?" "Oh, fantastic architecture. Bowers by Bendemeer. Never mind.
The horses are at the post; a distant cluster of crowded animals with little dots of colour on their backs. Green, blue, yellow, purple, French grey, and old gold, they change about in a bewildering manner, and though the Oracle has a cheap pair of glasses, he can't make out where Bendemeer has got to.
Marshall bewitched the father of his country, and Dowton raised the laugh, and lovely Mrs. Barrett melted the heart, and the roses were "bright by the calm Bendemeer."
"I am not the rose, but I have lived with her," responded Forrester, sententiously. "That's the principle of the thing. When a subaltern arrives laden with gold, the barrack-yard is a perfect garden of Bendemeer to the tradesmen." "I believe it is precisely such regiments," remarked Bruce, "that the political economists have in view when they attack the army estimates."
Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?" I and the oldest and hairiest sailor were sighing like furnaces as the melody recommenced with the second verse: "No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gathered while freshly they shone, And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone."
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