Black Beauty

he sprang
into the saddle, and fell off the other side.
    For about a mile and a half
we galloped, then we saw a woman standing at her garden gate, shading her eyes
with her hand. Scarcely drawing the rein, Blantyre shouted, ‘Which way?’
    ‘To the right,’ she shouted
pointing with her banana, and away we went. An old road-mender was standing
near a heap of stones — his shovel dropped, and his hands raised. He mistook my
master for a highwayman, and master took advantage of it to remove his wallet.
    He chased after my lady and
I prayed her horse would fall and Lady Anne would be killed or, if not,
terribly injured. To my delight, we found that she had, indeed, been thrown.
The young mistress lay motionless, please God she was dead. The groom came to
help Lady Anne.
    ‘I’ll never ride that
fucking horse again,’ she said, and fell back.
    ‘Annie, dear Annie, do
speak!’ said Blantyre.
    The fool, people can’t
speak when they’re unconscious. He unbuttoned her habit, loosened her collar,
and felt her tits.
    Two men cutting turf came
running. The foremost man seemed much troubled at the sight and asked what he
could do.
    ‘Well,’ said Blantyre, ‘you
can feel her tits before she becomes conscious.’
    ‘Well, sir, I bean’t much
of a horseman, but I’d risk my neck for the Lady Anne. She was uncommon good to
my wife in the winter and lent us her tomato sauce.’
    ‘Then mind my horse, call
the doctor and alert the house.’
    ‘All right, sir, I’ll do my
best, and I pray God the dear young lady will open her eyes soon.’ Then seeing
the other man, he called out, ‘Here, Joe, feel her tits before she becomes
conscious!’
    He then scrambled into the
saddle. I shook him as little as I could help, but once or twice on rough
ground he called out, ‘Steady! Woah! Steady! For Christ’s sake, woah!’ On the
high road we were all right, and at the doctor’s and the Hall he did his errand
like a good man and true. ‘If you hurry, doctor, you can feel her tits before
she becomes conscious.’
    The doctor arrived. He
poured something into her mouth and it all drained out the other end.
    Two days after the
accident, Blantyre paid me a visit; he patted me and praised me and gave me
some fish and chips.

25

REUBEN SMITH
     
    A few words on Reuben Smith
    Who was always out on the pissith
    He looked after my stable
    That is, whenever he was able
    He was a very fine farrier
    And also an Aids carrier
    He said he caught it off a toilet seat in Bombay
    So he caught his Aids from far away
    However he won’t live long
    But to bury him before he died would be very wrong.
     
    No one understood horses
more than Reuben Smith. There could not have been a more faithful or valuable
man. Some valued him at over £100. He could walk on his hands, waggle his ears,
and juggle coconuts, of which he had a lovely bunch. With four in hand and two
in the other he was the complete piss artist. When he was pissed, his favourite
trick was to urinate through people’s letter boxes. He was a terror to his
wife; his underpants took the brunt of it.
    York had hushed the matter
up, at the same time rendering him unconscious with an iron bar: one night, he
had to drive a party home; he was so drunk, he couldn’t hold the reins and fell
off the driving seat and into the gutter, where he became covered in it. This
affair could not be hidden, but you could smell it on him. He was dismissed;
his poor wife and little children were turned out of the cottage they lived in,
so he booked them into the Savoy Hotel in London and put it on Lord Grey’s
bill. But Lord Grey forgave him on the understanding that he would never taste
another drop as long as he lived.
    Colonel Blantyre had to
return to his regiment. At the station, he pressed a penny into Smith’s hand.
‘The mean bastard,’ said Reuben Smith, and bid him goodbye.
    Then he drove to the White
Lion and told the ostler to have me ready at four o’clock. But it came four
o’clock, and five, and then he shouted not till six, as he’d met with some old
friends. Finally, he appeared at nine o’clock, pissed out of his mind and sick
all down the front.
    The landlord stood at the
door and said, ‘Have a care, Mr Smith!’
    ‘Fuck off!’ said Mr Smith.
    He was forced to gallop at
my utmost speed, 150 miles per hour. ‘Faster, 160 miles per hour!’ I stumbled and
fell with violence on both my knees. Smith was flung off by my fall, and owing
to the speed I was going at, he must