I remember his telling me he was on duty at
Windsor once when Pulteney was staying there. Pulteney's always horribly
funked at Court; frightened out of his life when he dines with any
royalties; makes an awful figure too in a public ceremony; can't walk
backward for any money, and at his first levee tumbled down right in the
Queen's face. Now at the Castle one night he just happened to come down
a corridor as Beauty was smoking. Beauty made believe to take him for a
servant, took out a sovereign, and tossed it to him. 'Here, keep a still
tongue about my cigar, my good fellow!' Pulteney turned hot and cold,
and stammered out God knows what, about his mighty dignity being
mistaken for a valet. Bertie just laughed a little, ever so softly, 'Beg
your pardon--thought you were one of the people; wouldn't have done it
for worlds; I know you're never at ease with a sovereign!' Now Pulteney
wasn't likely to forget that. If he wanted the King, I'll lay any money
it was to give him to some wretched mount who'd break his back over a
fence in a selling race."
"Well, he won't have him; Seraph don't intend to have the horse ever
ridden or hunted at all."
"Nonsense!"
"By Jove, he means it! nobody's to cross the King's back; he wants
weight-carriers himself, you know, and precious strong ones too. The
King's put in stud at Lyonnesse. Poor Bertie! Nobody ever managed a
close finish as he did at the Grand National--last but two--don't you
remember?"
"Yes; waited so beautifully on Fly-by-Night, and shot by him like
lightning, just before the run-in.
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