Part 30 (2/2)

BLORE.

I confess heverything, sir. Bonny Betsy's bound for to win the 'andicap.

THE DEAN.

No, no--she isn't.

BLORE.

She is, sir.

THE DEAN.

I know better; she can never get down the hill with those legs of hers.

BLORE.

She can, sir--what's to beat her?

THE DEAN.

The horse in my stable--Dandy d.i.c.k!

BLORE.

Dandy d.i.c.k! That old bit of ma'ogany, sir. They're layin' ten to one against him.

THE DEAN.

[_With hysterical eagerness._] Are they? I'll take it! I'll take it!

BLORE.

Lord love you, sir--fur how much?

THE DEAN.

Fifty! There's the money. [_Impulsively he crams the notes into BLORE'S hand and then recoils in horror._] Oh!

[_Sinks into a chair with a groan._

BLORE.

[_In a whisper._] Lor', who'd 'ave thought the Dean was such a ardent sportsman at 'art? He dursn't give me my notice after this. [_To THE DEAN._] Of course it's understood, sir, that we keep our little weaknesses dark. Houtwardly, sir, we remain respectable, and, I 'ope, respected. [_Putting the notes into his pocket._] I wish you good-night, sir. [_He walks to the door. THE DEAN makes an effort to recall him but fails._] And that old man 'as been my pattern and example for years and years! Oh, Edward Blore, your hidol is shattered! [_Turning to THE DEAN._] Good-night, sir. May your dreams be calm and 'appy, and may you have a good run for your money!

[_BLORE goes out--THE DEAN gradually recovers his self-possession._

THE DEAN.

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