MR. DAVID SHELDRAKE DOES A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK.
Mr. Sheldrake helped himself to brandy-and-water, lit a fresh cigar,
threw his cigar-case to Alfred with the air of an old acquaintance,
and seemed as if he would have been perfectly satisfied to smoke and
drink without conversation. But Alfred was not so disposed.
"So you did a good thing on the Derby," he commenced familiarly;
"backed the Zephyr Colt, eh? I wish I had!"
"Backed it at the right time, my boy; backed it in April, and got
thirties to one three times in hundreds."
"Nine thousand to three hundred," Alfred put in rapidly and enviously.
"That's a good calculation of yours, and quickly done," observed Mr.
Sheldrake, with a nod of approval.
"O yes, I'm good at mental arithmetic," was the conceited answer.
"That's what's wanted in racing matters. You go to a race, and you
hear the odds bawled out, and you want to hedge, perhaps; the odds are
constantly changing, and you've got to seize them at the proper
moment. To do that properly, you must be smart at figures, and then
you're all right. I know many a man who can't write anything but his
own name, and who makes pots of money because he can calculate the
odds quickly. It's a gift, and you've got it, my boy. Fill up your
glass."
Alfred filled his glass, his face beaming with conceit.
"Go on with the Zephyr colt," he said. "You stuck to the bet, didn't
you?"
"No, I didn't; I hedged, like a fool."
"Ah, _I_ shouldn't have done that!"
"No more ought I, and no more should I, if I had had some one to
advise me. You know it was at the commencement of April that the colt
was at thirty to one, and a fortnight afterwards it was at twelve. I
hedged at those odds to win my three hundred pounds, and make myself
safe."
"So you stood to win five thousand four hundred and to lose nothing,"
said Alfred rapidly, having been looking out for another opportunity
to exhibit his prowess in mental arithmetic.
"What wonderful calculation!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake in admiration,
to Alfred's intense delight. "You could make a fortune in the ring."
"Do you think so? _I_ think I could."
"I'd give a thousand pounds this minute to be able to reckon up
figures as you can."
"You make plenty, though, without that."
"I only do what any man can do, if he keeps his head cool. Did you
back anything for the Derby?"
"Yes, worse luck," replied Alfred, with a groan, emptying his glass to
wash down a rising remorse. "I wish I had known you then. You might
have told me to back the Zephyr colt. You would, wouldn't you?"
"That I would, for your pretty sister's sake. I wish we _had_ known
each other then! What did you back?"
"Three horses--Bothwell, King of the Forest, and Digby Grand.
Everybody said Bothwell was sure to win, and that's why I backed it,
although I didn't fancy it."
"It's a bad thing to back three horses; never back more than one, and
stand to it to win a good stake."
"That's what I'm going to do on the Northumberland Plate. I ought to
have backed the Baron's horse, for he always runs straight, doesn't
he?" There was something painful in the speaker's eagerness as he
looked for consolation in the face of his companion. "And you won over
five thousand on it, and I might have done the same if I had known. If
only one of my three had come in first, I should have been right. As
it is----"
Alfred paused, and beat his foot fretfully on the floor.
"As it is," prompted Mr. Sheldrake, with a keen watchfulness of
Alfred's manner.
Alfred stirred his empty glass with the spoon. He had drunk more than
was good for him, and this may have been the cause of the sudden
paleness that came over his face. He laughed nervously, and said,
"Well, it's only the same predicament that hundreds of other young
fellows are in--I owe a little money, that's all. When I saw the
horses coming round Tattenham-corner, and saw King of the Forest
running so strong, I made sure that it was right. All the people round
me cried out, 'King of the Forest wins! King of the Forest wins!' It
was all over in a moment, and the Zephyr colt shot by the winning-post
like a flash of lightning. I should have won a couple of hundred if
it hadn't been for that. But I shall make up for it all right on the
Northumberland Plate. Christopher Sly's sure to win; don't you think
so? All the prophets say he can't lose. Look here;" and he pulled out
a handful of letters and papers, and, trembling with eagerness and
excitement, made selections, and read from them. "Hear what Pegasus
says: 'Never in the Annals of racing has there been such a certainty
as Christopher Sly for the Northumberland Plate. The race is as good
as over, and those who were fortunate enough to back the horse when it
was at twenty to one will have a rare haul. Indeed, the money is as
safe as if it were in their pockets.' Here's Delphos: 'Christopher Sly
has been especially reserved for this event; he is meant to win, and
nothing can stop him. The race is a dead certainty for him.' Delphos
ought to know, oughtn't he? They all say the same; all the prophets in
the daily papers go in for him. What do you think? Don't you think
he's sure to win?"
"It looks very like a certainty. If the odds were a little longer on
him, I'd back him for fifty myself."
"You'd do right! I've got all sorts of odds about him--fifteen to one
in one place. You can only get six to four about him now," said Alfred
exultantly. "But what does it matter about the odds if you're sure to
win?"
"What do you stand to lose?"
"O, I don't know. I know what I stand to win--over three hundred. I
shall pay off what I owe then, and go in for something big."
"That's the sort!" cried Mr. Sheldrake gaily, clapping the young
fellow on the shoulder. "Nothing venture, nothing have. You're just
the stamp of man to break the ring. When it's known that you can
afford to lose a few hundreds, you must join the Clubs. I'll introduce
you. I'd keep quiet till then, if I were you."
Alfred nodded and laughed; all traces of anxiety had vanished from his
countenance. He became pressing in his advice to Mr. Sheldrake to back
Christopher Sly, admired that gentleman's cigar case and his diamond
ring, and boasted of the gimcracks he intended to buy for Lily and
himself when he received his winnings. By the time they had finished
their brandy-and-water it was half-past two o'clock in the morning;
and when they reached the streets, Mr. Sheldrake gave Alfred his card,
and said he would be glad to see him at his office.
"All right, old fellow," said Alfred; "I'll come."
"And look here," said Mr. Sheldrake, hooking Alfred by the
button-hole, "I wouldn't say much at home of what we've been
speaking about. Wait till you make a haul. It's best always to keep
these things to oneself."
Alfred nodded acquiescence.
"If you want a friend at any time," added Mr. Sheldrake, "you know
where to come to; and you'll find that what David Sheldrake says,
David Sheldrake means."
They shook hands and parted, Alfred going his way impressed with the
conviction that Mr. Sheldrake was one of the best fellows in the
world, and that gentleman going _his_ impressed with the conviction
that he had found a fine tool to assist him in working into pretty
Lily's favour.
"You've done a good night's work, David," said the modern man of
fashion, communing with himself, according to his favourite habit; "a
very good night's work. You can win that nugget through her fool of a
brother. Lily! What a pretty name! Lily! Charming Lily! Why, David,
the girl's bewitched you!"