It was a curious anomaly also that the one man in Lebanon who would not
have been expected to love and pursue horse-flesh was the Reverend Reuben
Tripple to whom Ingolby had given his conge, but who loved a horse as he
loved himself.
He was indeed a greater expert in horses than in souls. One of the sights
of Lebanon had been the appearance in the field of the "Reverend
Tripple," who owned a great, raw-boned bay mare of lank proportions, the
winner of a certain great trotting-race which had delighted the mockers.
For two years Jowett had eyed Mr. Tripple's rawbone with a piratical eye.
Though it had won only a single great race, that, in Jowett's view, was
its master's fault. As the Arabs say, however, Allah is with the patient;
and so it was that on the evening of the day in which Ingolby met
disaster, Mr. Tripple informed Jowett that he was willing to sell his
rawbone.
He was mounted on the gawky roadster when he met Gabriel Druse making for
the bridge. Their greeting was as cordial as hasty. Anxious as was the Ry
to learn what was going on in the towns, Jowett's mount caught his eye.
It was but a little time since they had met at Ingolby's house, and they
were both full of the grave events afoot, but here was a horse-deal of
consequence, and the bridle-rein was looseflung.
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