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[ 104] <hr style="width: 85%;" /> <h2>The Riding-Class.</h2> Scene—A Riding-school, on a raw chilly afternoon. The gas is lighted, but does not lend much cheerfulness to the interior, which is bare and bleak, and pervaded by a bluish haze. Members of the Class discovered standing about on the tan, waiting for their horses to be brought in. At the further end is an alcove, with a small balcony, in which Mrs. Bilbow-Kay, the Mother of one of the Equestrians, is seated with a young female Friend. Mrs. Bilbow-Kay. Oh, Robert used to ride very nicely indeed when he was a boy; but he has been out of practice lately, and so, as the Doctor ordered him horse-exercise, I thought it would be wiser for him to take a few lessons. Such an excellent change for any one with sedentary pursuits! The Friend. But isn't riding a sedentary pursuit, too? Mrs. B.-K. Robert says he doesn't find it so. [Enter the Riding Master. Riding Master (saluting with cane). Evenin', Gentlemen—your 'orses will be in directly; 'ope we shall see some ridin' this time. (Clatter without; enter Stablemen with horses.) Let me see—Mr. Bilbow-Kay, Sir, you'd better ride the Shar; he ain't been out all day, so he'll want some 'andling. (Mr. B.-K., with a sickly smile, accepts a tall and lively horse.) No, Mr. Tongs, that ain't your 'orse to-day—you've got beyond 'im, Sir. We'll put you up on Lady Loo; she's a bit rough till you get on terms with her, but you'll be all right on her after a bit. Yes, Mr. Joggles, Sir, you take Kangaroo, please. Mr. Bumpas, I've 'ad the Artful Dodger out for you; and mind he don't get rid of you so easy as he did Mr. Gripper[ 105] last time. Got a nice 'orse for you, Mr. 'Arry Sniggers, Sir—Frar Diavolo. You mustn't take no notice of his bucking a bit at starting—he'll soon leave it off. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/p105.png" width-obs="472" height-obs="600" alt=""YOU AIN'T NO MORE 'OLD ON THAT SADDLE THAN A STAMP WITH THE GUM LICKED OFF!"" title="" /> "YOU AIN'T NO MORE 'OLD ON THAT SADDLE THAN A STAMP WITH THE GUM LICKED OFF!"</div> [ 106] Mr. Sniggers (who conceals his qualms under a forced facetiousness). Soon leave me off you mean! R. M. (after distributing the remaining horses). Now then—bring your 'orses up into line, and stand by, ready to mount at the word of command, reins taken up in the left 'and with the second and little fingers, and a lock of the 'orse's mane twisted round the first. Mount! That 'orse ain't a bicycle, Mr. Sniggers. [Mr. S. (in an undertone). No—worse luck!] Number off! Walk! I shall give the word to trot directly, so now's the time to improve your seats—that back a bit straighter, Mr. 'Ooper. No. 4 just fall out, and we'll let them stirrup-leathers down another 'ole or two for yer. (No. 4, who has just been congratulating himself that his stirrups were conveniently high, has to see them let down to a distance where he can just touch them by stretching.) Now you're all comfortable. ["Oh, are we?" from Mr. S.] Trot! Mr. Tongs, Sir, 'old that 'orse in—he's gettin' away with you already. Very bad, Mr. Joggles, Sir—keep those 'eels down! Lost your stirrup, Mr. Jelly? Never mind that—feel for it, Sir. I want you to be independent of the irons. I'm going to make you ride without 'em presently. (Mr. Jelly shivers in his saddle.) Captin' Cropper, Sir; if that Volunteer ridgment as you're goin' to be the Major of sees you like you are now, on a field-day—they'll 'ave to fall out to larf, Sir! (Mr. Cropper devoutly wishes he had been less ingenuous as to his motive for practising his riding.) Now, Mr. Sniggers, make that 'orse learn 'oo's the master! [Mr. S. "He knows, the brute!"] Mrs. B.-K. He's very rude to all the Class, except dear Robert—but then Robert has such a nice easy seat. The R. M. Mr. Bilbow-Kay, Sir, try and set a bit closer. Why, you ain't no more 'old on that saddle than a stamp with the gum licked off! Can-ter! You're, all right, Mr. Joggles—it's on'y his play; set down on your saddle, Sir!... I didn't say on the ground! Mrs. B.-K. (anxiously to her Son, as he passes). Bob, are you quite sure you're safe? (To Friend.) His horse is snorting so dreadfully![ 107] R. M. 'Alt! Every Gentleman take his feet out of the stirrups, and cross them on the saddle in front of him. Not your feet, Mr. Sniggers, we ain't Turks 'ere! Mr. S. (sotto voce). "There's one bloomin' Turk 'ere, anyway!" R. M. Now then—Walk!... Trot! Set back, Gentlemen, set back all—'old on by your knees, not the pommels. I see you, Mr. Jelly, kitchin' old o' the mane—I shall 'ave to give you a 'ogged 'orse next time you come. Quicken up a bit—this is a ride, not a funeral. Why, I could roll faster than you're trotting! Lor, you're like a row o' Guy Foxes on 'orseback, you are! Ah, I thought I'd see one o' you orf! Goa-ron, all o' you, you don't come 'ere to play at ridin'—I'll make you ride afore I've done with you! 'Ullo, Mr. Joggles, nearly gone that time, Sir! There, that'll do—or we'll 'ave all your saddles to let unfurnished. Wa—alk! Mr. Bilbow-Kay, when your 'orse changes his pace sudden, it don't look well for you to be found settin' 'arf way up his neck, and it gives him a bad opinion of yer, Sir. Uncross stirrups! Trot on! It ain't no mortal use your clucking to that mare, Mr. Tongs, Sir, because she don't understand the langwidge—touch her with your 'eel in the ribs. Mr. Sniggers, that 'orse is doin' jest what he likes with you. 'It 'im, Sir; he's no friends and few relations! Mr. S. (with spirit). I ain't going to 'it 'im. If you want him 'it, get up and do it yourself! R. M. When I say "Circle Right"—odd numbers'll wheel round and fall in be'ind even ones. Circle Right!... Well, if ever I—I didn't tell yer to fall off be'ind. Ketch your 'orses and stick to 'em next time. Right In-cline! O' course, Mr. Joggles, if you prefer takin' that animal for a little ride all by himself we'll let you out in the streets—otherwise p'raps you'll kindly follow yer leader. Captain Cropper, Sir, if you let that curb out a bit more, Reindeer wouldn't be 'arf so narsty with yer.... Ah, now you 'ave done it. You want your reins painted different colours and labelled, Sir, you do. 'Alt, the rest of you.... Now, seein' you're shook down in your saddles a bit—["Shook up's more like it!" from Mr. S.]—we'll 'ave the 'urdles in and show you a bit o' Donnybrook! (The Class endeavours to assume an air of delighted anticipation at this pleasing prospect.) To Assistant R. M., (who has entered and said something in an undertone.) Eh,[ 108] Captin' 'Edstall here, and wants to try the grey cob over 'urdles? Ask him if he'll come in now—we're just going to do some jumping. Assist. R. M. This lot don't look much like going over 'urdles—'cept in front o' the 'orse, but I'll tell the Captain. [The hurdles are brought in and propped up. Enter a well-turned-out Stranger, on a grey cob. Mr. Sniggers (to him). You ain't lost nothing by coming late, I can tell yer. We've bin having a gay old time in 'ere—made us ride without sterrups, he did! Captain Headstall. Haw, really? Didn't get grassed, did you? Mr. S. Well, me and my 'orse separated by mutual consent. I ain't what you call a fancy 'orseman. We've got to go at that 'urdle in a minute. How do you like the ideer, eh? It's no good funking it—it's got to be done! R. M. Now, Captin—not you, Captin Cropper—Captin 'Edstall I mean, will you show them the way over, please? [Captain H. rides at it; the cob jumps too short, and knocks the hurdle down—to his rider's intense disgust. Mr. S. I say, Guvnor, that was a near thing. I wonder you weren't off. Capt. H. I—ah—don't often come off. Mr. S. You won't say that when you've been 'ere a few times. You see, they've put you on a quiet animal this journey. I shall try to get him myself next time. He be'aves like a gentleman, he does. Capt. H. You won't mount him, if you take my advice—he has rather a delicate mouth. Mr. S. Oh, I don't mind that—I should ride him on the curb o' course. [The Class ride at the hurdle one by one. R. M. Now, Mr. Sniggers, give 'im more of 'is 'ed than that, Sir—or he'll take it.... Oh, Lor, well, it's soft falling luckily! Mr. Joggles, Sir, keep him back till you're in a line with it.... Better, Sir; you come down true on your saddle afterwards anyway!... Mr. Parabole!... Ah, would you? Told you he was tricky, Sir! Try him at it again.... Now—over!... Yes, and it is over, and no mistake![ 109] Mrs. B.-K. Now it's Robert's turn. I'm afraid he's been overtiring himself, he looks so pale. Bob, you won't let him jump too high, will you?—Oh, I daren't look. Tell me, my love,—is he safe? Her Friend. Perfectly—they're just brushing him down. AFTERWARDS. Mrs. B.-K. (to her Son). Oh, Bob, you must never think of jumping again—it is such a dangerous amusement! Robert (who has been cursing the hour in which he informed his parent of the exact whereabouts of the school). It's all right with a horse that knows how to jump. Mine didn't. The Friend. I thought you seemed to jump a good deal higher than the horse did. They ought to be trained to keep close under you, oughtn't they? [Robert wonders if she is as guileless as she looks.] Capt. Cropper (to the R. M.) Oh, takes about eight months, with a lesson every day, to make a man efficient in the Cavalry, does it? But, look here—I suppose four more lessons will put me all right, eh? I've had eight, y' know. R. M. Well, Sir, if you arsk me, I dunno as another arf dozen 'll do you any 'arm—but, o'course, that's just as you feel about it. [Captain Cropper endeavours to extract encouragement from this <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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