London's Heart: A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

what's wanted in racing matters. You go to a race, and you hear the odds bawled out, and you want to hedge, perhaps; the odds are constantly changing, and you've got to seize them at the proper moment. To do that properly, you must be smart at figures, and then you're all right. I know many a man who can't write anything but his own name, and who makes pots of money because he can calculate the odds quickly. It's a gift, and you've got it, my boy. Fill up your glass."

      Alfred filled his glass, his face beaming with conceit.

      "Go on with the Zephyr colt," he said. "You stuck to the bet, didn't you?"

      "No, I didn't; I hedged, like a fool."

      "Ah, I shouldn't have done that!"

      "No more ought I, and no more should I, if I had had some one to advise me. You know it was at the commencement of April that the colt was at thirty to one, and a fortnight afterwards it was at twelve. I hedged at those odds to win my three hundred pounds, and make myself safe."

      "So you stood to win five thousand four hundred and to lose nothing," said Alfred rapidly, having been looking out for another opportunity to exhibit his prowess in mental arithmetic.

      "What wonderful calculation!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake in admiration, to Alfred's intense delight. "You could make a fortune in the ring."

      "Do you think so? I think I could."

      "I'd give a thousand pounds this minute to be able to reckon up figures as you can."

      "You make plenty, though, without that."

      "I only do what any man can do, if he keeps his head cool. Did you back anything for the Derby?"

      "Yes, worse luck," replied Alfred, with a groan, emptying his glass to wash down a rising remorse. "I wish I had known you then. You might have told me to back the Zephyr colt. You would, wouldn't you?"

      "That I would, for your pretty sister's sake. I wish we had known each other then! What did you back?"

      "Three horses-Bothwell, King of the Forest, and Digby Grand. Everybody said Bothwell was sure to win, and that's why I backed it, although I didn't fancy it."

      "It's a bad thing to back three horses; never back more than one, and stand to it to win a good stake."

      "That's what I'm going to do on the Northumberland Plate. I ought to have backed the Baron's horse, for he always runs straight, doesn't he?" There was something painful in the speaker's eagerness as he looked for consolation in the face of his companion. "And you won over five thousand on it, and I might have done the same if I had known. If only one of my three had come in first, I should have been right. As it is – "

      Alfred paused, and beat his foot fretfully on the floor.

      "As it is," prompted Mr. Sheldrake, with a keen watchfulness of Alfred's manner.

      Alfred stirred his empty glass with the spoon. He had drunk more than was good for him, and this may have been the cause of the sudden paleness that came over his face. He laughed nervously, and said,

      "Well, it's only the same predicament that hundreds of other young fellows are in-I owe a little money, that's all. When I saw the horses coming round Tattenham-corner, and saw King of the Forest running so strong, I made sure that it was right. All the people round me cried out, 'King of the Forest wins! King of the Forest wins!' It was all over in a moment, and the Zephyr colt shot by the winning-post like a flash of lightning. I should have won a couple of hundred if it hadn't been for that. But I shall make up for it all right on the Northumberland Plate. Christopher Sly's sure to win; don't you think so? All the prophets say he can't lose. Look here;" and he pulled out a handful of letters and papers, and, trembling with eagerness and excitement, made selections, and read from them. "Hear what Pegasus says: 'Never in the Annals of racing has there been such a certainty as Christopher Sly for the Northumberland Plate. The race is as good as over, and those who were fortunate enough to back the horse when it was at twenty to one will have a rare haul. Indeed, the money is as safe as if it were in their pockets.' Here's Delphos: 'Christopher Sly has been especially reserved for this event; he is meant to win, and nothing can stop him. The race is a dead certainty for him.' Delphos ought to know, oughtn't he? They all say the same; all the prophets in the daily papers go in for him. What do you think? Don't you think he's sure to win?"

      "It looks very like a certainty. If the odds were a little longer on him, I'd back him for fifty myself."

      "You'd do right! I've got all sorts of odds about him-fifteen to one in one place. You can only get six to four about him now," said Alfred exultantly. "But what does it matter about the odds if you're sure to win?"

      "What do you stand to lose?"

      "O, I don't know. I know what I stand to win-over three hundred. I shall pay off what I owe then, and go in for something big."

      "That's the sort!" cried Mr. Sheldrake gaily, clapping the young fellow on the shoulder. "Nothing venture, nothing have. You're just the stamp of man to break the ring. When it's known that you can afford to lose a few hundreds, you must join the Clubs. I'll introduce you. I'd keep quiet till then, if I were you."

      Alfred nodded and laughed; all traces of anxiety had vanished from his countenance. He became pressing in his advice to Mr. Sheldrake to back Christopher Sly, admired that gentleman's cigar case and his diamond ring, and boasted of the gimcracks he intended to buy for Lily and himself when he received his winnings. By the time they had finished their brandy-and-water it was half-past two o'clock in the morning; and when they reached the streets, Mr. Sheldrake gave Alfred his card, and said he would be glad to see him at his office.

      "All right, old fellow," said Alfred; "I'll come."

      "And look here," said Mr. Sheldrake, hooking Alfred by the button-hole, "I wouldn't say much at home of what we've been speaking about. Wait till you make a haul. It's best always to keep these things to oneself."

      Alfred nodded acquiescence.

      "If you want a friend at any time," added Mr. Sheldrake, "you know where to come to; and you'll find that what David Sheldrake says, David Sheldrake means."

      They shook hands and parted, Alfred going his way impressed with the conviction that Mr. Sheldrake was one of the best fellows in the world, and that gentleman going his impressed with the conviction that he had found a fine tool to assist him in working into pretty Lily's favour.

      "You've done a good night's work, David," said the modern man of fashion, communing with himself, according to his favourite habit; "a very good night's work. You can win that nugget through her fool of a brother. Lily! What a pretty name! Lily! Charming Lily! Why, David, the girl's bewitched you!"

      CHAPTER VI

      GRAVE NEWS

      It was with a feeling of shame that Alfred put his boasted latch-key into the street-door. He knew that Lily was waiting up for him, and that it was inconsiderate in him to keep the young girl from her bed until so late an hour; and although his brain was disturbed by drink, he strove to administer a salve to his conscience by thinking that Lily would do anything for him; but the effort was not quite successful. Something whispered to him that it was unfair to take advantage of the girl's love and devotion for him, and to cause her anxiety. This was not the only unwelcome thought suggested by the silent monitor that keeps watch in the mind of a man whose sense of right is not entirely blinded; and Alfred received the points of these nettles discontentedly, as others are in the habit of receiving them, making excuses in response which he vainly strove to believe were not shallow. He fell back at last upon the most ordinary of all subterfuges. "What's the use of bothering?" he thought. "I'm not the only young fellow who keeps out late once now and again." It is the commonest thing in the world for us thus to throw the responsibility of our own inexcusable actions upon other people's shoulders. "O, well, I am not worse than my neighbours!" is the ointment we apply when our conscience mildly pricks us but we cannot deprive the nettles of their sting by suchlike sophistry.

      As Alfred closed the street door behind him, a stream of light fell upon the stairs from the room on the first-floor. Lily had heard him come in, and now glided down to meet him.

      "I am so glad you have come home," she said, with