But really I was
running to back a superstition--my belief in Foe, who knew nothing
about horse-racing and cared less.
Well, the race was run that year in a thunderstorm--a drencher; and
if Foe was right, I guess that finished Gouvernant, who never looked
like a winner. St. Amant romped home, with John o' Gaunt second, in
the place he could be trusted for. Thanks to Foe I had saved myself
more than a pony in three strenuous minutes, and he pocketed his few
sovereigns and smiled.
That was also the day--June 1st, 1904--"Glorious First of June" as
Jimmy Collingwood called it--that Foe first made Jimmy's
acquaintance. Young Collingwood was a neighbour of mine, down in the
country; an artless, irresponsible, engaging youth, of powerful build
and as pretty an oarsman and as neat a waterman as you could watch.
Eton and B.N.C. Oxford were his nursing mothers. His friends
(including the dons) at this latter house of learning knew him as the
Malefactor; it being a tradition that he poisoned an aunt or a
grandparent annually, towards the close of May. He was attending the
obsequies of one that afternoon on the edge of the hill, in a hansom,
with a plate of _foie gras_ on his knees and a bottle of champagne
between his ankles.
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