Part 46 (1/2)

”Won't you step round, sir, to the private bar?” said William. ”You'll be more comfortable.”

”Hardly worth while. I was at the theatre, and I thought I'd come in and have a look round.... I see that you haven't forgotten the old horses,” he said, catching sight of the prints of Silver Braid and Summer's Dean which William had hung on the wall. ”That was a great day, wasn't it? Fifty to one chance, started at thirty; and you remember the Gaffer tried him to win with twenty pound more than he had to carry.... Hullo, John! very glad to see you again; growing strong and well, I hope?”

The old servant looked so shabby that Esther was not surprised that Ginger did not shake hands with him. She wondered if he would remember her, and as the thought pa.s.sed through her mind he extended his hand across the bar.

”I 'ope I may have the honour of drinking a gla.s.s of wine with you, sir,”

said William. Ginger raised no objection, and William told Esther to go down-stairs and fetch up a bottle of champagne.

Ketley, Journeyman, Stack, and the others listened eagerly. To meet the celebrated gentleman-rider was a great event in their lives. But the conversation was confined to the Barfield horses; it was carried on by the merest allusion, and Journeyman wearied of it. He said he must be getting home; the others nodded, finished their gla.s.ses, and bade William good-night as they left. A couple of flower-girls with loose hair, shawls, and trays of flowers, suggestive of streetfaring, came in and ordered four ale. They spoke to the vagrant, who collected his match-boxes in preparation for a last search for charity. William cut the wires of the champagne, and at that moment Charles, who had gone through with the ladder to turn out the street lamp, returned with a light overcoat on his arm which he said a cove outside wanted to sell him for two-and-six.

”Do you know him?” said William.

”Yes, I knowed him. I had to put him out the other night--Bill Evans, the cove that wears the blue Melton.”

The swing doors were opened, and a man between thirty and forty came in.

He was about the medium height; a dark olive skin, black curly hair, picturesque and disreputable, like a bird of prey in his blue Melton jacket and billyc.o.c.k hat.

”You'd better 'ave the coat,” he said; ”you won't better it;” and coming into the bar he planked down a penny as if it were a sovereign. ”Gla.s.s of porter; nice warm weather, good for the 'arvest. Just come up from the country--a bit dusty, ain't I?”

”Ain't you the chap,” said William, ”what laid Mr. Ketley six 'alf-crowns to one against Cross Roads?”

Charles nodded, and William continued--

”I like your cheek coming into my bar.”

”No harm done, gov'nor; no one was about; wouldn't 'ave done it if they had.”

”That'll do,” said William. ”... No, he don't want the coat. We likes to know where our things comes from.”

Bill Evans finished his gla.s.s. ”Good-night, guv'nor; no ill-feeling.”

The flower-girls laughed; one offered him a flower. ”Take it for love,”

she said. He was kind enough to do so, and the three went out together.

”I don't like the looks of that chap,” said William, and he let go the champagne cork. ”Yer health, sir.” They raised their gla.s.ses, and the conversation turned on next week's racing.

”I dun know about next week's events,” said old John, ”but I've heard of something for the Leger--an outsider will win.”

”Have you backed it?”

”I would if I had the money, but things have been going very unlucky with me lately. But I'd advise you, sir, to have a trifle on. It's the best tip I 'ave had in my life.”

”Really!” said Ginger, beginning to feel interested, ”so I will, and so shall you. I'm d.a.m.ned if you shan't have your bit on. Come, what is it?

William will lay the odds. What is it?”

”Briar Rose, the White House stable, sir.”

”Why, I thought that--”