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Updated: May 7, 2025
He flung himself into a chair, grinning with satisfaction like a schoolboy. "What is it?" asked Lady Holme, looking up from her writing-table. "I've been to Lady Brayley, explained the whole thing, and got us both off. After all, she was a friend of my mother's, and knew me in kilts and all that, so she ought to be ready to do me a favour. She looked a bit grim, but she's done it.
"I ain't goin' to play with you all day." Conniston laughed and did not know that he had done so. He only saw that Brayley had stepped back a pace, and that he had something, black but glistening in the pale light, tight clenched in his hand. Crying out hoarsely, inarticulately, he threw himself forward. Again Brayley met him, this time the revolver in his hand thrust before him.
And he was of no mind to have Brayley manhandle him before such an audience as was now sitting quietly watching, listening to his panting breaths. In one straining effort he jerked his right shoulder free, swung his clenched fist back, and drove it smashing into Brayley's face. Brayley's head snapped back, and the blood from his cut mouth ran across his white, bared teeth.
And to the man upon his left, "Will you kindly pass me the bread?" The man grinned in rare enjoyment, and, since he kept his eyes upon Brayley's glowering face, it was hardly strange that he handed Conniston a plate of stewed prunes instead. "Thank you," Conniston said to him, still ignoring Brayley. "But it was bread I said." "An' I said something!" cut in Brayley, his voice crisp and incisive.
To-day he had found heretofore unsounded depths in the nature of Brayley; he wanted to know the man better, to show him that he had not been blind to rough, frank generosity, nor unappreciative of it. Through these latter days, during which the scales had been dropping from his eyes in spite of prejudice, he had been forced into a grudging admiration of the man's capability.
Brayley and others, who, though well known in flat-races, have also good hunters in their stables, while the proprietors of the latter in France confine themselves exclusively to this specialty. Perhaps the best known amongst them are the baron Jules Finot and the marquis de St. Sauveur. Most of the members of the Jockey Club affect to look down upon the "illegitimate" sport, as they call it.
E. W. Brayley supported this view of planetary production in 1864, and it has recommended itself to Haidinger, Helmholtz, Proctor, and Faye. But the negative evidence of geological deposits appears fatal to it. The theory of solar energy now generally regarded as the true one was enounced by Helmholtz in a popular lecture in 1854.
With a glance from Brayley's lacerated face to the bloody smears on Conniston's, Lonesome Pete got to his feet and, shaking his head and dusting the seat of his overalls as he went, turned and disappeared into the stable after his horse. Brayley glared after him a second, grunted, and got to his feet. "Well," he snarled, facing Conniston. "You licked me. Now what? Want to beat me up some more?"
Seem to be in a hurry!" Conniston and Kent, riding swiftly, side by side, overtook the wagons conveying the three hundred men to the Valley, and, passing them, arrived at Brayley's camp before the men there had quit work for the day. Brayley was more than half expecting them, as Kent had telephoned to the office from Bolton to learn where Conniston was and had told Tommy Garton of his errand.
You can take that as a sort of an apology if you like. But at the same time, even if I am to take orders from you, I am not going to be bulldozed by you or anybody like you. If you will ask me decently " "Ask you!" bellowed Brayley. "Ask you! By the Lord, I don't ask my men! I make 'em!" He had leaped forward with his last word, his two big hands outstretched with clawing fingers.
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