"Impossible."
"Nonsense! You say yourself the mare's sure to win."
"Bar accidents, she must."
"Then make your game."
"No; I have no money."
"Why, you said just now that her ladyship had placed four thou' to your
credit in her bank."
"For my electioneering exes."
"Bosh! To use. Put on the pot and make it boil. Why, man, you could
clear enough on the strength of that coin lying idle to set you up for a
couple of years."
"Ye-e-es," said Sir Hilton, who began biting at his nails. "Might,
mightn't I?"
"Of course. Why, you would be mad to miss the chance."
"It does sound tempting."
"Tempting? Of course. It isn't as if there was any gambling in it."
"Exactly. There would be no gambling in it?"
"Of course not. If it were some horse whose character you did not know,
it would be different. But here you are--your own mare, whom you know
down to the ground. Your own jockey, too. Look here, dear boy, La
Sylphide can't help winning. You'd be mad to miss this chance. I
should say, go and see the run, but I give way to your scruples there;
but when I see you chucking away a pile of money I begin to kick."
Sir Hilton rose and walked up and down the room, as his old friend and
companion continued talking, and ended by coming back to the table and
bringing down his fist with a bang.
"Yes," he cried, "it would be madness to miss the chance. By Jove!
I'll do it."
"Bravo, old man!"
"I'll put it in your hands, Jack. Get on for me all you can."
"Up to what?"
"All I've got in the bank. Four thou'."
"Do you mean it?"
"Of course."
"Well done, old chap. That's Hilt up to the hilt, like in the old
times."
"Pst! Someone coming," said the baronet, dropping into a chair. "We
didn't hear the chaise. It's my wife."