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Having plied him well with port, they now plied him well with the stranger, and what with the one and the other, and a glass or two of brandy-and-water, Tom became very tractable, and it was ultimately arranged that they should have a drag over the very stiffest parts of the country, wherein all who liked should take part, but that Mr. Caingey Thornton and Mr.

Caingey being at length cleansed from his weeds, wiped from his mud, and made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, was now hoisted on to the renowned steeple-chase horse again, who had scrambled out of the brook on the taking-off side, and, after meandering the banks for a certain distance, had been caught by the bridle in the branch of a willow Caingey, we say, being again mounted, Mr.

Waffles was more considerate, and promised him the first mount on his new purchase, though Caingey would rather have had a ten, or even a five-pound note.

This was Caingey Thornton's trade. He was always lurking about people's stables talking to grooms and worming out secrets whose horse had a cough, whose was a wind-sucker, whose was lame after hunting, and so on and had a price current of every horse in the place knew what had been given, what the owners asked, and had a pretty good guess what they would take.

'Whoay! roared Thornton, as his first dive at the stirrup missed, and was answered by a hearty kick out from the horse, the 'whoay' being given in a very different tone to the gentle, coaxing style of Mr. Buckram and his men. Had it not been for the brandy within and the lookers-on without, there is no saying but Caingey would have declined the horse's further acquaintance.

'I'll bet you a pair of gloves he doesn't, snaps Miss Moore, who fancies Captain Pusher, in the pink. 'What a squat little jockey! exclaims Miss Hamilton, as a little dumpling of a man in Lincoln green is led past the stand on a fine bay horse, some one recognizing the rider as our old friend Caingey Thornton. 'And look who comes here? whispers Miss Jawleyford to her sister, as Mr.

The field is now reduced to six, and two of the number, Mr. Spareneck and Caingey Thornton, become marked in their attention to our hero. Thornton is riding Mr. Waffles' crack steeple-chaser 'Dare-Devil, and Mr. Spareneck is on a first-rate hunter belonging to the same gentleman, but they have not been able to get our friend Sponge into grief.

Caingey, we should observe, was a bold, reckless rider, never seeming to care for his neck, but he was no match for Mr. Sponge, who had both skill and courage.

Caingey Thornton, who was desperately in want of a mount, after going the rounds of the old laudatory course, alluded to the threatened vapourings of the stranger, and expressed his firm belief that he would 'meet with his match, a 'taking of the bull by the horns, that met with very considerable favour from the wine-flushed party, the majority of whom, at that moment, made very 'small, in their own minds, of the biggest fence that ever was seen.

That's him, I believe, with the lofty-actioned hind-legs, added he, pointing to a weedy string-halty bay passing below, high in bone and low in flesh. 'Who's o' the gaudy chestnut? asked Caingey Thornton, who now appeared, wiping his fat lips after his second glass of eau de vie. 'That's Mr. Sponge's, replied Spareneck in a low tone, knowing how soon a man catches his own name.