CHAPTER VII
UNEARNED INCREMENT
Lady Adela and I studiously avoided all reference to gardening or dietupon our six-mile drive to Laxley, and reached the course in a conditionof comparative amicability.
We arrived just in time to hear the roar that greeted the result of thefirst race.
"I wonder what has won," I said, as the victoria bumped over the grass.
"I have never been greatly interested in racing," said Lady Adelamajestically. "My father was devoted to it, and so is my brotherRumborough. But I never know one horse from another. For instance, Ihave not the faintest notion which of the two animals now drawing us isRomulus and which is Remus, although Dick says it is impossible tomistake them. But then Dick has a name for every animal in the estate.Ah! there is the motor, against the railings! That is rather a relief.Dear Constance is an excellent driver, Dick says, but she is inclined tobe venturesome."
"Miss Damer appears to be a lady of exceptional talents," I observed.
"Yes, indeed!" agreed Lady Adela, with, for her, quite remarkableenthusiasm. "It is a pity she has no money."
I do not know whether the last remark was intended as a lamentation oran intimation. But I understood now why Miss Damer was only FirstReserve.
I changed the subject.
"I suppose you do not bet, Lady Adela?"
"I make it a rule," replied my hostess precisely, "to puthalf-a-sovereign on any horse whose owner we happen to know. One shouldalways support one's friends, should not one?"
I was still pondering in my heart Lady Adela's system of turfspeculation, wondering whether if every animal in the race had belongedto a friend she would have backed it, and in any case what benefit orotherwise (beyond shortening the price) one confers upon an owner bybacking his horses at all, when the victoria, rolling heavily, came toanchor astern of the motor, and Hilda Beverley, Sylvia, and Crick, whohad been standing upon the seats to view the race, turned to greet us.
"I had no idea racing was so exciting, dear Lady Adela," exclaimed MissBeverley. "I came armed with a copy of 'The Nation,' prepared to spendthe afternoon in the back seat of the car, and here I am quitethrilled."
"I am so glad, dear Hilda," said Lady Adela graciously. "Dick wouldhave been disappointed if you had not enjoyed yourself. Where is thatboy, by the way?"
"He and Connie have gone to collect Mr. Carmyle's winnings," saidSylvia.
"Has--ha! h'm!--Plumstone won, then?" I enquired, timorously avoidingLady Adela's eye.
"Yes, worse luck!" replied Mr. Crick lugubriously. "We were all onMercutio. But Miss Damer stuck to it that Plumstone was the righthorse, and made Dicky put on five shillings for her and five for you.They got three to one, I believe."
At this moment Dicky and Miss Damer returned from the ring, and I wasduly presented with six half-crowns.
"Three-quarters of an hour till the next race," announced Dicky."Better have lunch."
By this time the whole party had become infected with that fierce spiritof cupidity which assails respectable Britons when they find themselvesin the neighbourhood of that singularly uncorrupt animal, the horse; andthe succeeding half-hour was devoted by seven well-born and well-to-dopersons to an elaborate consideration of the best means of depriving ahard-working and mainly deserving section of the community of as large asum of money as possible.
Our symposium resulted in a far from unanimous decision. Lady Adela,having studied the list of owners' names upon the card, handed me asovereign and instructed me to seek out a book-maker who should be bothcheap and respectable, and back the Earl of Moddlewick's Extinguisherand Mr. Hector McCorquodale's Inverary. Mr. Crick, the expert of theparty, let fall dark hints on the subject of a quadruped named TheChicken. Dicky and I decided to wait until the numbers went up.
"Dick, you must positively back a horse for me this time," announcedMiss Beverley.
"You are getting on, Hilda!" replied The Freak, obviously pleased tofind his beloved in sympathy with his simple pleasures.
Miss Beverley handed him five shillings.
"And if the horse does n't win I shall never speak to you again," sheconcluded; and from the tone of her voice I could not help feeling thatshe meant what she said.
"What is your selection this time, Connie?" asked Sylvia.
Miss Damer produced a dirty pink envelope and began to open it.
Dicky laughed.
"Connie has been patronising a tipster," he said.
"I got this," explained Miss Damer, "from a man on the course. His namewas Lively. He was trying to earn an honest living, he said, bysupplying reliable stable information to sportsmen; but he did n't seemto be getting on very well, poor thing! People were standing all roundhim in a ring, laughing, and nobody would buy any of his envelopes,although he had given lots of them the winner of the first race fornothing. Just then he caught sight of Dicky and me standing on the edgeof the crowd. He pushed his way towards us, and said that if I boughtone of his tips, he knew it would bring him luck. He said," Miss Dameradded with a smile of genuine gratification, "that I was a beautifulyoung lady. So I bought one of his envelopes, and after that a lot ofother people did, too."
Dicky grinned.
"Yes; that was the point at which we ought to have passed alongquietly," he said.
"Did n't you?" I asked.
"Bless you, no! Connie had n't nearly finished. She and her friend wereas thick as thieves by this time. The conversation was just beginningto interest them."
"What did you find to talk about, Miss Damer?" asked Hilda Beverleycuriously.
"I could n't help wondering," Connie continued, "whether he had a wifeand children to support; so I asked him if he was married. He said hewas afraid he was, but if ever he became a widower he would let me know.We left after that."
"Constance, _dear_ child!" began Lady Adela, amid unseemly laughter.
"It was all right, Lady Adela," Miss Damer assured her. "They werequite a nice crowd, and I had Dicky with me."
"You are a great deal better able to take care of yourself than I am,old lady," said The Freak admiringly.
I saw Miss Beverley's fine eyes rest disapprovingly for a moment uponher philogynistic swain. Then some one asked:--
"What is your tip, Connie?"
Miss Damer scanned her paper.
"It's not very well written," she said. "Perry--Perry--something."
"Periander?" I suggested. "He is on the card."
"Yes--Periander. I shall back him."
"Rank outsider," said Mr. Crick's warning voice.
"I shall back him all the same," persisted Miss Damer, with a little nodof finality. "It would n't be fair to Lively's luck if I did n't. Mr.Carmyle, will you come and find a bookmaker with me?"
We departed together, and pushed our way through the crowd to the ring.On our journey we passed Miss Damer's protege, still dispensing reliableinformation in a costume composed of check trousers, an officer'sscarlet mess-jacket, stained and bleached almost beyond recognition bythe accidents of many race-courses, and a large bowler hat adorned witha peacock's feather. A broken nose made him conveniently recognisableby those (if such there were) who might desire to consult him a secondtime. Miss Damer, for whom castaways and lame dogs in general seemed tohave a peculiar fascination, showed a disposition to linger again; but atimely reminder as to the necessity of getting our money on at once tookus past the danger point and saved me from participating in a publicappearance.
Presently we found ourselves amid the book-making fraternity. Thenumbers of the runners had gone up, and lungs of brass were proclaimingthe odds in fierce competition.
"What does 'six to four the field' mean?" enquired Miss Damer. "Ialways forget."
I turned to answer the question, but found that it had not beenaddressed to me. My companion was now engaged in animated conversationwith a total stranger, and for the next five minutes I stoodrespectfully aloof while th
e pair discussed _seriatim_ the prospects ofeach horse upon the card.
"He says Periander is an outsider," Miss Damer informed me, as the manmoved away, awkwardly raising his hat. "But I think I must back him.Cornucopia is a certainty for this race, he told me." ("A pinch" waswhat the gentleman had said: I overheard him.) "You had better putsomething on him."
I meekly assented, and after Miss Damer had found her bookmaker weadventured ten shillings upon Periander and Cornucopia respectively.Public estimation of the former animal's form was such as to secure oddsof ten to one for Miss Damer. I was informed that the two steeds ownedby the Earl of Moddlewick and Mr. Hector McCorquodale were not running,so a Diogenean search for Lady Adela's cheap and respectable bookmakerwas not required of me.
Suddenly a bell rang.
"They're off!" exclaimed Miss Damer. "We can't cross the course now.Come on to this stand."
We raced up a flight of steps, and presently found ourselves on a longbalcony in a position which commanded a view of the entire course.
"Your jockey," announced Miss Damer to me, "is pale blue with chocolatesleeves and cap. Mine is red, with white hoops. Can you see themanywhere?"
"I can see mine," I said. "He is having a chat with the starter atpresent, but I have no doubt he will tear himself away presently."
"But the others are halfway home!" cried Miss Damer in dismay.
"So I perceive."
"You poor man!"
"Never mind!" I replied quite cheerfully. There is something verycomforting about being called a poor man by some people. "Where is yourfriend?"
"There, in that bunch of four. He is going well, is n't he? That's thefavourite, Mustard Seed, lying back."
"I expect his jockey will let him out after he gets into the straight,"I said.
"If he isn't very careful," observed Miss Damer with perfect truth, "hewill get shut out altogether."
The horses swept round the last corner and headed up the final stretchin a thundering bunch. Suddenly Miss Damer turned to me.
"This is fearfully dull for you," she said.
"Not at all," I assured her. "My horse has just started."
"Come in with me on Periander," pleaded my companion. "You can onlylose five shillings."
I closed with her offer by a nod. Some partnerships can be acceptedwithout negotiation or guarantee.
Suddenly the crowd gave a roar. The favourite had bored his way throughthe ruck at last. He shot ahead. The noise became deafening.
"There goes our half-sovereign!" shrieked Miss Damer despairingly in myear.
"Wait a minute!" I bellowed. "Periander is n't done for yet."
There came a yet mightier roar from the crowd, and as we leanedprecariously over the balustrade and craned our necks up the course, weperceived that a horse whose jockey wore red and white hoops wasmatching the favourite stride for stride.
"Periander! Periander!" yelled those who stood to win at ten to oneagainst.
"Mustard Seed!" howled those who stood to lose at six to four on.
But they howled in vain. The flail-like whips descended for the lasttime; there was a flash of red and white; and Periander was first pastthe post by a length.
We descended into the ring and sought out our bookmaker. There was nocrowd round him: backers of Periander had not been numerous; and it waswith a friendly and indulgent smile that he handed Miss Damer herhalf-sovereign and a five-pound note.
"Can you give me two-pounds-ten for this?" she asked, handing me thenote.
It was useless to protest, so I humbly pocketed my unearned increment,and we left the ring in search of the rest of our party.
"I have never won gold before," announced the small capitalist besideme, slipping the coins into her chain-purse--"let alone paper." Hersmiling face was flushed with triumph.
"I think I know who will rejoice at your victory to-morrow," I said,"and participate in the fruits thereof."
"Who?"
"The coachman's children, the gardener's children, the lodge-keeper'schildren--"
But Miss Damer was not listening.
"Poor Lively!" she said suddenly. "He gave me that tip, and yet hecould n't afford to back the horse himself."
"Tipsters do not as a rule follow their own selections," I said. "Idon't suppose, either, that Periander's was the only name contained inthose pink envelopes of his. You really ought not--"
"Why, there he is!" exclaimed Miss Damer, upon whom, I fear, my littlehomily had been entirely thrown away.
We had made a detour to avoid the crowd on our way back to the carriage,and were now crossing an unfrequented part of the course. My companionpointed, and following the direction of her hand I beheld, projectingabove a green hillock twenty yards away, a battered bowler hat,surmounted by a peacock's feather.
"Come this way," commanded Miss Damer.
I followed her round to the other side of the hillock. There lay theretailer of stable secrets, resting from his labours before the nextrace. Apparently business was not prospering. His dirty, villainousface looked unutterably pinched and woe-begone. His eyes were closed.Obviously he had not lunched. His broken nose appeared more concavethan ever.
At our approach he raised his head listlessly.
"Go on, and wait for me, please," said Miss Damer in a low voice.
I obeyed. One always obeyed when Miss Damer spoke in that tone, andevidently some particularly private business was in hand. Already thechild's impulsive fingers were fumbling with the catch of her chainpurse.
I took up my stand a considerable distance away. I had no fears ofLively. One does not snatch at the purse of an angel from heaven. Myonly concern was that the angel's generosity might outrun herdiscretion.
I could hear her making a breathless little speech, but Lively saidnever a word. I was not altogether surprised. Probably he was afraidof waking up.
Presently she came back to me, smiling farewell at her pensioner overher shoulder.
"You'll give one of them to your wife, won't you?" was the last thing Iheard her say.
Then she rejoined me, and we walked on.
"How much money," I enquired severely, "will you have left out of yourwinnings, after providing for me and your other friend and the familiesof the coachman and the gardener and the lodge-keeper?"
Again Miss Damer was not attending.
"Poor Lively!" she said softly.
There were tears in her eyes.