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When Matchbox galloped home the winner of the Cesarewitch by five lengths, William was lying in his bed, seemingly at death's door. He had remained out late one evening, had caught cold, and his mouth was constantly filled with blood. He was much worse, and could hardly take notice of the good news. When he revived a little he said, "It has come too late."
"That's just what has been passing in my mind. I've got particular information about the Cesarewitch and Cambridgeshire. I could get the price you speak of fifty to one against the two, Matchbox and Chasuble the double event, you know. I'm inclined to go it. It's my last chance."
She mentioned incidentally that he had been away in the country and had come back with very particular information regarding a certain horse for the Cesarewitch. If the horse won he'd be all right. At last Esther's patience was tired out. "It must be getting late," she said, looking towards where the sun was setting.
It happened that when we made this memorable visit I had an uncle living at The Priory at Royston, which was some five-and-twenty miles from Newmarket, where the big handicap, I think the Cesarewitch, was to be run the following day, or the next I forget which. But an interesting episode interrupted our journey to the Heath.
Ever since the scullery window was found open the year Shining Light was disqualified in the Cesarewitch for boring, Uncle Tom has had a marked complex about burglars.
She signalled again: 'What won the Cesarewitch? But the distance was now too great for us to learn whether the answer gave satisfaction or not. We have a party of cinematographers on board, and when they found that we were going to speak the 'Nineveh' they bustled about preparing their apparatus.
As you says, the 'orse is dicky on 'is forelegs, that is the reason of all the walking exercise." "And they thinks they can bring him fit to the post and win the Cesarewitch with him by walking him all day?" "I don't say they don't gallop him at all; they do gallop him, but not as much as if his legs was all right." "That won't do.
Barrett says there's a new hunter coming out. It could win the Cesarewitch with 8st. 4lb., but they mean keeping his hunter's certificate. Put a bit on." "Wait till we see." "Lord! If I could get the mater to part only a pony I'd buy a satchel and start bookmaking in the half-crown ring myself. It's Tom Tiddler's ground if you've got a nut on you." "Queer work for a 'Varsity man?"
"It is going on for seven o'clock; but since you're that kind I think I'd like a glass of beer." "Do you listen much to the betting talk here of an evening?" Sarah asked, as she was leaving. "I don't pay much attention, but I can't help hearing a good deal." "Do they talk much about Ben Jonson for the Cesarewitch?" "They do, indeed; he's all the go."
I don't believe in a 'orse winning the Cesarewitch that ain't got four sound legs, and old Ben ain't got more than two." "He's had a long rest, and they say he is sounder than ever he was since he won the Great Ebor.