Mrs. Vanderstein's jewels. Bryce Charles
that’s all. Of course there’s old Fyves, next door. You know him, don’t you?”
Mrs. Vanderstein gazed with intent interest at the people he pointed out; and then let her attention wander back to the Royal box while Sidney talked to Barbara.
“Have you been racing?” she asked him soon.
“Off and on. I went to see my horse, Benfar, run the other day. He came in easily last.”
“I don’t think that man can ride him well. He’s a good horse. I saw him as a two-year-old.”
“There’s something wrong somewhere, that’s certain. If I don’t have better luck this year than I had last I shall give up keeping race-horses,” said Sidney with decision.
“Oh, you mustn’t do that,” cried Barbara in a tone of so much distress that Sidney laughed.
“Why do you care?” he asked.
“I care a lot. I never see anything of racing people nowadays, or meet anyone except you who knows a horse from a centipede. If you give up racing I shall feel that my last link of connection with the turf is severed.”
“Why don’t you get my aunt to bring you down to Epsom to-morrow?”
“Oh, she wouldn’t like it a bit,” said Barbara regretfully.
“I daresay she’d enjoy it enormously. Aunt Ruth, why don’t you come racing with me sometimes? Miss Turner and I will show you the ropes and you’ll probably be plunging wildly by this time next week.”
“I hate spending a hot day walking from the stand to the paddock and back again,” said Mrs. Vanderstein. “I hate horses and I hate seeing their heels waving round my head on every side, which seemed to me to be the case the only time I went to a race meeting. Nasty vicious animals. The way they are led about among the crowd by people who can’t control them is most dangerous, I consider.”
“I expect you saw one let off a kick or two out of sheer lightness of heart,” said Barbara. “Horses are darlings, really; I wish you knew them as well as I do.”
Mrs. Vanderstein not only disliked horses herself, but she strongly disapproved of Barbara’s fondness for them. The career of the late Mr. Turner had been unedifying to such a point that even Mr. Vanderstein had been unable to disguise entirely from his wife some of its more notorious features, and Mrs. Vanderstein would have been better pleased if she could have persuaded herself that the girl had forgotten all about the days of her companionship with so undesirable a father.
She had, moreover, no sympathy for speculation in any form, and especially mistrusted that which took the shape of gambling on the turf. Her greatest friend had married a man who had entirely ruined himself by the practice of backing losers; and the sight of the misery and privation that had, in this manner, been brought on a woman for whom she felt a sincere affection left on Mrs. Vanderstein one of those deep impressions that determine many of our strongest opinions and prejudices throughout life. To Mrs. Vanderstein betting was one of the most unpardonable sins. It was true that Mr. Vanderstein had kept a racing-stable and she had never really forgiven him for not giving it up at her request. But he had always assured her that he never betted.
She turned away without answering, and Barbara’s conscience – for she knew how much her friend disliked the subject of the turf – made her think she detected an impatient expression in the back of the white shoulders and told her it would be better to change the conversation. The temptation was too strong, however, and she continued, dropping her voice to a murmur:
“You are going to Epsom to-morrow yourself?”
“Yes,” said Sidney, wondering why she leant so confidentially towards him.
“Well, I wonder if you would be very kind and put a little money on a horse for me. Would it be too much trouble?”
“Not a bit. What horse is it?”
“It’s a tip Ned Foster sent me. He was one of my father’s grooms, you know, and I hear of him sometimes. He used to be very good to me when I was a child. I had a letter from him to-day begging me to back Averstone. He says he’s absolutely certain to romp in on Wednesday.”
“How much do you want me to put on him?” asked Sidney.
“I haven’t got much, I’m afraid,” said Barbara ruefully, “but I’ve saved a little out of the pocket money your aunt gives me. It’s only £20. I wish it was more.”
“Are you going to risk your entire fortune?” said Sidney. “You’re a pretty rash young lady, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I must have a flutter. Besides, it’s a dead certainty. I’d put a thousand on if I had it.”
“What a fearful gambler! When you’ve lost as much as I have you’ll go a bit slower.”
“Have you lost much?” asked Barbara sympathetically. “I’m so sorry. Just lately?”
“Well, yes, since you ask me I don’t mind telling you that I have had some rather nasty blows during the last few months. That brute, Benfar, has a lot to answer for, my word!”
“He’ll turn out a winner yet,” said Barbara hopefully.
“He might come in first if all the other starters tumbled down,” said Sidney, with an effort to treat the subject lightly, “but I’m afraid before that happens I shall have to shut up shop. Things can’t go on like this. I lost £10,000 over the Lincolnshire meeting, and that’s only a drop in the ocean. But I don’t know why I’m bothering you with my troubles,” he concluded, pulling himself up abruptly.
“I am glad you tell me,” she replied simply. “I am so very sorry that you have had such rotten luck. You’d better change it by backing my tip. Ned Foster would never have advised me to put my all on Averstone unless he knew it was a sure thing. He really has a regard for me, I believe, and he often used to say that the day would come when he’d make my fortune and his own. He doesn’t approve of betting as a general thing. He’s a most steady, cautious kind of individual.”
“I wonder,” said Sidney. “I think perhaps I’ll have a last fling. What are the odds?”
“They’re long. Averstone’s not supposed to have a ghost of a chance. I think it’s about 40 to 1 against him.”
“My word, just think if one had a few thousands on him and it came off!” said Sidney. “The bookies would all die on the spot.”
“It would be rather annoying for some one,” laughed Barbara. “I hope it will come off.”
“I’m afraid it would be too good to be true,” said Sidney gloomily, “but it would certainly save the situation if it did. If I lost a very little more I’d have to leave the army.”
“Is it as bad as that?” asked Barbara, for the first time realising the graveness of the position for Sidney. “How dreadful. I am sorry!”
The young man laughed awkwardly.
“It’s awfully good of you,” he said. “I’ve been a perfect ass, of course. If I could win back half what I’ve lost, I swear I’d never back a horse again!”
“I expect your luck will turn,” repeated Barbara hopefully. She had all a gambler’s instinct of optimism.
But Sidney only laughed again rather recklessly as he got up to go. The interval was over and the people were hurrying back to their seats.
“As the orchestra seems to be going to make another effort,” he said, “I must get back to the Garringdons’ box. Good night, Miss Turner; good night, Aunt Ruth; I’ll come and look you up in a day or two, if I get over to-morrow without being obliged to put a sudden end to my career.”
“What did Joe mean by his last remark?” Mrs. Vanderstein asked as the door shut behind the young man’s vanishing form. “I don’t understand what he meant about putting an end to his career.”
“He was telling me he has lost a lot of money lately, racing,” Barbara murmured rather reluctantly,