In plain language, he borrows money and invests it in every possible way.  His farms are simply the basis of his credit.  He buys blood shorthorns, he buys blood horses, and he sells them again.  He buys wheat, hay, &c., to dispose of them at a profit.  If he chose, he could explain to you the meaning of contango, and even of that mysterious term to the uninitiated, ‘backwardation.’  His speculations for the ‘account’ are sometimes heavy.  So much so, that occasionally, with thousands invested, he has hardly any ready money.  But, then, there are the crops; he can get money on the coming crops.  There is, too, the live stock money can be borrowed on the stock.

Here lies the secret reason of the dread of foreign cattle disease.  The increase of our flocks and herds is, of course, a patriotic cry (and founded on fact); but the secret pinch is this—­if foot-and-mouth, pleuro-pneumonia, or rinderpest threaten the stock, the tenant-farmer cannot borrow on that security.  The local bankers shake their heads—­three cases of rinderpest are equivalent to a reduction of 25 per cent. in the borrowing power of the agriculturist.  The auctioneers and our friends have large transactions—­’paper’ here again.  With certain members of the hunt he books bets to a high amount; his face is not unknown at Tattersall’s or at the race meetings.  But he does not flourish the betting-book in the face of society.  He bets—­and holds his tongue.  Some folks have an ancient and foolish prejudice against betting; he respects sincere convictions.

Far and away he is the best fellow, the most pleasant company in the shire, always welcome everywhere.  He has read widely, is well educated; but, above all, he is ever jolly, and his jollity is contagious.  Despite his investments and speculations, his brow never wears that sombre aspect of gloomy care, that knitted concentration of wrinkles seen on the face of the City man, who goes daily to his ‘office.’  The out-of-door bluffness, the cheery ringing voice, and the upright form only to be gained in the saddle over the breezy uplands, cling to him still.  He wakes everybody up, and, risky as perhaps some of his speculations are, is socially enlivening.

The two young gentlemen, by-the-by, observed playing lawn-tennis from the drawing-room window, are two of his pupils, whose high premiums and payments assist to keep up the free and generous table, and who find farming a very pleasant profession.  The most striking characteristic of their tutor is his Yankee-like fertility of resource and bold innovations—­the very antipodes of the old style of ‘clod-compeller.’

CHAPTER VI

AN AGRICULTURAL GENIUS-OLD STYLE