Part 49 (1/2)
”Let us take a stroll,” he said, later in the evening.
Their stroll took them towards the scene of the night before, Mr.
Verrall's being the moving _will_. ”Shall we see who's there?” he said, with great apparent indifference.
George answered as indifferently: but there was an undercurrent of meaning in his tone, wonderful for careless George G.o.dolphin. ”Better keep out of temptation.”
Mr. Verrall laughed till the tears came into his eyes: he said George made him laugh. ”Come along,” cried he, mockingly. ”I'll take care of you.”
That night George played. A little. ”As well put a gold piece down,” Mr.
Verrall whispered to him; ”I shall.” George staked more than one gold piece; and won. A fortnight had gone over since then, and George G.o.dolphin had become imbued with the fearful pa.s.sion of gambling. At any rate, imbued with it temporarily: it is to be hoped that he will leave it behind him when he leaves Homburg.
Just look at him, as he stands over that green cloth, with a flushed face and eager eyes! He is of finer form, of loftier stature than most of those who are crowding round the tables; his features betray higher intellect, greater refinement; but the same pa.s.sions are just now distorting them. Mr. Verrall is by his side, cool, calm, impa.s.sive: somehow, that man, Verrall, always wins. If he did not, he would not lose his coolness: he would only leave the tables.
”_Rouge_,” called George.
It was _noir_. George flung his last money on the board, and moved away.
Mr. Verrall followed him. ”Tired already?”
Mr. George let slip a furious word. ”The luck has been against me all along; almost from the first night I played here. I am cleaned out again.”
”I can let you have----”
”Thank you!” hastily interrupted George. ”You are very accommodating, Verrall, but it seems we may go on at the same thing for ever: I losing, and you finding me money. How much is it that I owe you altogether?”
”A bagatelle. Never mind that.”
”A _bagatelle_!” repeated George. ”It's well money is so valueless to you: _I_ don't call it one. And I have never been a man given to looking at money before spending it.”
”You can pay me when and how you like. This year, next year, the year after: I shan't sue you for it,” laughed Mr. Verrall. ”There! go and redeem your luck.”
He held out a heavy roll of notes to George. The latter's eager fingers clutched them: but, even as they were within his grasp, better thoughts came to him. He pushed them back again.
”I am too deeply in your debt already, Verrall.”
”As you please,” returned Mr. Verrall, with indifference. ”There the notes are, lying idle. As to what you have had, if it's so dreadful a burden on your conscience, you can give me interest for it. You can let the princ.i.p.al lie, I say, though it be for ten years to come. One half-hour's play with these notes may redeem all you have lost.”
He left the notes lying by George G.o.dolphin--by hesitating George--with the fierce pa.s.sion to use them that was burning within him. Mr. Verrall could not have taken a more efficient way of inducing him to play again, than to affect this easy indifference, and to leave the money under his eyes, touching his fingers, fevering his brain. George took up the notes.
”You are sure you will let me pay you interest, Verrall?”
”Of course I will.”
And George walked off to the gaming-table.
He went home later that night than he had gone at all, wiping the perspiration from his brow, lifting his face to the quiet stars, and gasping to catch a breath of air. Mr. Verrall found it rather cool, than not; shrugged his shoulders, and said he could do with an overcoat; but George felt stifled. The roll had _gone_; and more to it had gone; and George G.o.dolphin was Mr. Verrall's debtor to a heavy amount.
”Thank goodness the day has already dawned!” involuntarily broke from George.
Mr. Verrall looked at him for an explanation. He did not understand what particular cause for thankfulness there should be in that.
”We shall get away from the place to-day,” said George. ”If I stopped in it I should come to the dogs.”