"Are you looking for Mr. Bolton, my lord? He's round by the boxes with
Sir Bernard Brian. We've got our best two-year-old round there--Prince
Charlie his name is. He's by the old Hundredth Chance and Queen of the
Earth. Your lordship ought to see him. He is a royalty and no mistake;
tame as a dog too, and that knowing--well, there, you'd hardly believe
it, but we have to talk in French sometimes so as he shan't know what we
say!"
Saltash chuckled. "You must let me hear you, Sam. All right. I'll go
round. Ah! Here is Sir Bernard! Hullo, Bunny, my boy! You, is it? Where's
the boss?"
A black-haired, black-eyed lad of about three-and-twenty, handsome,
spare, and very upright, had come suddenly round the corner of a
building. He greeted Saltash with enthusiasm.
"Why, Charlie! I'm awfully pleased to see you! We all thought you were
done for. How are you, I say? It was rotten luck for you to lose the poor
old _Night Moth_ like that. Hope she was decently insured. And you're
none the worse?"
"Not a mite!" laughed Saltash. "How are you? As skimpy a bag of bones as
ever?"
"Oh, dash it! I've grown!" protested Bunny. "I'm as tall as you are
anyway."
"Oh, you're long enough," chaffed Saltash.
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