The next day, intent on persuading Porter to accept the money won over
Diablo, Crane took a run down to Ringwood farm.
As Allis had foreshadowed, his visit was of no avail, so far as Porter's
acceptance of the winnings was concerned.
With natural forethought Crane first talked it over with Mrs. Porter,
but that good lady would have felt a sort of moral defilement in
handling any betting money, much less this that seemed obscured in
uncertainty as to its rightful ownership. She believed very much in
Crane's bona fides, and had no doubt whatever but his statement of the
case was absolutely truthful. But Allis had refused to accept the money;
it would never do for her to go beyond her daughter's judgment. She even
thought it unadvisable for Crane to discuss the matter with her husband;
it would only worry him, and she was positive that, in his pride of
independence, he would refuse to touch a penny that was not actually due
him.
“But there's a payment on Ringwood due in a few days,” Crane argued,
“and we must arrange for that at all events. If this money, which is
rightfully your family's, could be applied on that, it would make a
difference, don't you think?”
“I suppose John must settle it,” she said, resignedly; “perhaps you had
better see him. I can't interfere one way or the other. I have no head
for business,” she added, apologetically; “I'm not sure that any of us
have except Allis. We just seem to drift, drift, drift.”
Crane stated the facts very plausibly, very seductively, to John Porter.
Porter almost unreasonably scented charity in Crane's proposal. He
believed that the bet was a myth; Crane was trying to present him with
this sum as a compensation for having lost Diablo. It wasn't even
a loan; it was a gift, pure and simple. His very helplessness, his
poverty, made him decline the offer with unnecessary fierceness. If
Allis had refused it, if she were strong enough to stand without this
charity, surely he, a man, battered though he was, could pass it by. He
had received a hopeful message from Allis as to Lucretia's chances in
the Derby; they felt confident of winning. That win would relieve them
of all obligations.
“I can't take it,” Porter said to Crane. “Allis is more familiar with
the circumstances of the bet--if there was one--than I. It must just
rest with her; she's the man now, you know,” he added, plaintively; “I'm
but a broken wreck, and what she says goes.”
“But there's a payment on Ringwood falling due in a few days,” Crane
remonstrated, even as he had to Mrs. Porter.
Porter collapsed, fretfully. He could stand out against prospective
financial stringency, but actual obligations for which he had no means
quite broke down his weakened energy. He had forgotten about this
liability, that is, had thought the time of payment more distant.
He would be forced to recall the money he had given Dixon to bet on
Lucretia for the Derby, to meet this payment to the bank.
Quite despondently he answered the other man. “I had forgotten all about
it; this shake-up has tangled my memory. I can pay the money, though,”
he added, half defiantly; “it will hamper me, but I can do it.”
A sudden thought came to Crane, an inspiration. “I've got it!” he
exclaimed.
Porter brightened up; there was such a world of confidence in the
other's manner.
“We'll just let this Diablo money stand against the payment which is
about due on Ringwood; put it in the bank to cover it, so to speak;
later we can settle to whom it belongs. At present it seems to be
nobody's money; it's seldom one sees a few thousand going abegging for
an owner,” he added, jocularly. “You say it isn't yours; I know it isn't
mine; and most certainly it doesn't belong to the bookmaker, for he's
lost it fair and square. We can't let him keep it; they win enough of
the public's money.”
Reluctantly, Porter gave a half-hearted acquiescence. He would have
sacrificed tangible interests to leave the money that was in Dixon's
hands with him to bet on Lucretia. It would be like not taking the tide
at its flood to let her run unbacked when her chances of winning were so
good, and the odds against her great enough to insure a big return.
It was after banking hours, quite toward evening, by the time Crane had
obtained this concession. He had brought the winnings for John Porter's
acceptance, should the latter prove amenable to reason. Now it occurred
to him that he might leave the money with one of the bank staff, who
could deposit it the next day.
Crane drove back to the village and went at once to the cashier, Mr.
Lane's house. He was not at home; his wife thought perhaps he was still
in the bank. Crane went there in search of him. He found only Mortimer,
who had remained late over his accounts. From the latter Crane learned
that the cashier had driven over to a neighboring town.
“It doesn't matter,” remarked Crane; “I can leave this money with you.
It's to meet a payment of three thousand due from John Porter about the
middle of June. You can put it in a safe place in the vault till the
note falls due, and then transfer it to Porter's credit.”
“I'll attend to it, sir,” replied Mortimer. “I'll attach the money to
the note, and put them away together.”
On his way to the station Crane met Alan Porter.
“I suppose you'd like a holiday to see your father's mare run for the
Derby, wouldn't you, Alan?” he said.
“I should very much, sir; but Mr. Lane is set against racing.”
“Oh, I think he'll let you off that day. I'll tell him he may. But,
like your mother, I don't approve of young men betting--I know what it
means.”
He was thinking, with bitterness, of his own youthful indiscretions.
“If you go, don't bet. You might be tempted, naturally, to back your
father's mare Lucretia, but you would stand a very good chance of
losing.”
“Don't you think she'll win, sir?” Alan asked, emboldened by his
employer's freedom of speech.
“I do not. My horse, The Dutchman, is almost certain to win, my trainer
tells me.” Then he added, apologetic of his confidential mood, “I tell
you this, lest through loyalty to your own people you should lose your
money. Racing, I fancy, is very uncertain, even when it seems most
certain.”
Again Crane had cause to congratulate himself upon the somewhat clever
manipulation of a difficult situation. He had scored again in his
diplomatic love endeavor. He knew quite well that Allis's determined
stand was only made possible by her expectation of gaining financial
relief for her father through Lucretia's winning the Derby. Should she
fail, they would be almost forced to turn to him in their difficulties.
That was what he wanted. He knew that the money won over Diablo, if
accepted, must always be considered as coming from him. The gradual
persistent dropping of water would wear away the hardest stone; he would
attain to his wishes yet.
He was no bungler to attempt other than the most gently delicate
methods.