He was out of bed in a moment and gliding down the stairs, and Aunt Leth quickly drew on a dressing-gown, and hastened after him.
"Open the door," cried Tom Barley, outside. "It's all right! There's nothing to be frightened at."
Uncle Leth threw open the door.
"Aunt Leth! oh, dear Aunt Leth!" murmured Phœbe, and fell sobbing into the good woman's arms.
"Phœbe! my poor dear Phœbe! Oh! look here! look here! There is blood upon her!"
"I am well and happy now!" sobbed Phœbe. "Oh! so happy! so happy! Dear aunt, dear uncle, don't let them take me from you again!"
"They never shall! they never shall! Oh, my poor dear! oh, my poor dear!"
Close, close, to the tender womanly heart, close to the faithful breast – closer, closer, closer!
"Phœbe!" screamed Fanny, flying down the stairs. "Oh, Phœbe! Phœbe! Mother, give her to me! give her to me!"
And here was 'Melia Jane, in the most outrageous of costumes, quite scandalous, indeed, running down to the kitchen to light the fire.
"I will tell you all to-morrow," said Tom Barley. "Nobody must know she is here. Good-night."
"Tom!" murmured Phœbe.
"Yes, Miss Phœbe?"
"Good-night, Tom."
"Good-night, miss."
He took the thin white hand she held out to him. She drew his face to hers and kissed him.
"Thank you, Tom! Oh, thank you!"
The tender light of the coming day shone upon his tear-stained face as he walked home to his humble bed.
CHAPTER XIX
A VISIT TO DONCASTER AND ITS RESULTS
The "system" which Jeremiah Pamflett, after infinite patience, had discovered of winning large sums of money upon the turf did not turn out the absolute certainty which his calculations upon paper had foreshadowed. At first all went well; he commenced with small amounts, and a peculiar run of wins in a certain direction favoured him. For three or four weeks his good fortune continued; every day's results showed a balance on the right, his lowest daily win being £3, his highest £62. At the end of that time he was the richer by £280. So far, so good.
He did not think so; he was mad with himself for winning so little. That was because he had ventured so little. "What an idiot I am!" he groaned, in the solitude of his bedchamber. "What an idiot! what an idiot! Had I multiplied my stakes by fifty I should have won £14,000. Where are my brains? Where is my pluck? Without courage, no one who was not born to riches has ever made a great fortune. And here am I wasting the precious time and letting my opportunities slip! £14,000 in four weeks. Forty racing weeks a year, £140,000. Five years of that, £7,000,000. Oh, Lord! seven million pounds! Seven millions! I could double it while I was making it. Fourteen million pounds! What could I do with fourteen millions? What could I do?" he screamed. "What couldn't I do? I could turn the world topsy-turvy! I could become anything I liked! – a Prince – a King – an Emperor! And all in five years from to-day – with a long life before me to enjoy my money! I'll do it – I'll do it – I'll do it!"
These contemplations turned his head. He resolved to dash in and become a millionaire.
The race-courses upon which his initial trials were made were situated at an easy distance from London – Kempton Park, Sandown, Epsom, Croydon, Ascot, Hampton, Windsor, and other such meetings, from which, when the last race was run, he could reach Miser Farebrother's office at seven or eight o'clock in the evening.
"I'm going to commence my system in real earnest," said Jeremiah to Captain Ablewhite. "No more shillyshallying."
"Brave boy!" replied Captain Ablewhite admiringly. "Where?"
"Well," questioned Jeremiah, seeking information. "Where?"
"Come with me to Doncaster," said Captain Ablewhite. "Glorious place! No end of swells there, waiting to hand you their money. A fortune ready made for you. We'll have a rare week. I know to a certainty what's going to win the Leger. A dark 'un."
"Doncaster's a long way off," said Jeremiah ruminatively.
"All the better. You can manage it: throw over the office for five days. What is life without beer and skittles? You will come back rolling in money."
Jeremiah did manage it. Miser Farebrother had one of his worst attacks, and there was no likelihood of his being able to leave his room the Doncaster week. Away went Jeremiah on Monday, in the company of Captain Ablewhite and three other swells, to commence the solid foundation of the great fortune in store for him. He had made his preparations for the grand coup, and had possessed himself of no less a sum than two thousand pounds in ready cash. How he had obtained this money need not be too curiously inquired into; sufficient to say that it was his master's, and that forgery was the means by which he had come into possession of it. He had "borrowed" it for a week. When the Doncaster Meeting was over, he would be able to replace it. He had confided to his mother that he was leaving London for a few days, and had instructed her to communicate regularly with him at Doncaster, giving her the address of an inn at which he and Captain Ablewhite intended to stop. She had implored him to confide in her the nature of the business which took him away; but he was obdurate, and he sternly refused to let her into the secret.
"All it is necessary for you to know," he said to her, "is that when you see me next I shall have twenty thousand pounds of my own."
"Don't run yourself into danger," she begged. "Oh, Jeremiah, be careful!"
"Let me alone for that," he replied. "I know what I'm about."
On the road to Doncaster he played "Nap" with Captain Ablewhite and his swell friends, crown points, and when the train reached its destination he had won over forty pounds.
"A good commencement," he said to himself, elated at his good fortune.
"You have the luck of the devil," said one of the losers to him. "How do you manage it?"
Jeremiah smiled as he packed his winnings away.
"It is my opinion," observed Captain Ablewhite pleasantly, "that Mr. Pamflett has made a bargain with the old gentleman. Everything he touches turns to gold."
On the following day Jeremiah, on the race-course, commenced to plunge, and after a martingale of six series of bets on six races found himself a loser of eleven hundred pounds. He was desperately frightened. He went carefully over his "system," and it was small satisfaction to him to prove that he had not made a mistake. What should he do? Leave off, or go on? There was no choice for him. He must go on; he must get back the money he had lost. It was not possible that he should continue to lose. The money would be sure to come back. He infused false courage into his trembling body by drinking brandy.
"A bad day," said Captain Ablewhite.
"What's the odds?" cried Jeremiah, emptying his glass. "It's only lent."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Captain Ablewhite. "You've got the right sort of stuff in you. You'll break the ring."
They played "poker" that night, and Jeremiah, by boldness, won back two hundred of the eleven. This put spirit into him. "It is all right," he thought. "I'll make them sing small before I've done with them."
On the race-course again he continued his "system" – lost on the first race of the day, lost on the second, and lost on the Leger. The "dark" horse, which Captain Ablewhite was certain would win, came in fourth. The carrying out of Jeremiah's "system" now required very heavy stakes, and when the number of the winner of the Leger went up on the board, he had but four hundred of the two thousand pounds left. Then he began to flounder. He had lost on nine successive races, and to pull back his losses it was necessary that he should stake the whole of the four hundred pounds in his pocket on the race about to take place. Did he dare to do that?
He walked about the ring, muttering to himself, and studying his card. "Shall I do it? shall I do it?" he muttered, in a state of indecision. He knew exactly what his "system" demanded. There was the horse, and there the jockey; did he dare to back them for the four hundred pounds? As he was hesitating and dallying, two men, whispering, brushed past him. He heard what they said. "They've squared it: it's a moral. Now's the time; I'm going nap on Morning Light."
Morning Light! Morning Light! The man was going nap on Morning Light. Was there ever a straighter tip? It was not the horse his "system" proclaimed he should back; but he could never forgive himself if he neglected the tip so fortuitously imparted to him. "It is sure to win; it is sure to win," muttered Jeremiah; and in a fit of nervous desperation he put his money on Morning Light. He could not get the odds to the amount from one book-maker, but he got them from four good men and true, to whom he intrusted the last of his new crisp bank-notes. He stood to win three thousand eight hundred pounds. "That will put me eighteen hundred on the right side," he muttered, "and my four hundred that I shall get back, that will be two thousand two hundred."
So great was his agitation that he walked out of the ring, and tried not to think of the race till it was over.
"Hallo, my buck!" cried Captain Ablewhite, clapping him on the shoulder just as he passed through the gate. "How are we getting along? Do you know anything? What have you backed?"
But Jeremiah would not allow the name of the horse to pass consciously from his lips. He had a superstitious fear that it would bring him bad luck; he mumbled some indistinct words, and staggered away. Captain Ablewhite looked after him and smiled.
How was it that in a few moments Jeremiah found himself back in the ring again? He could not tell, except that he was impelled by a terrible force which seemed to deprive him of self-control. His eyes blazed, his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. All at once he was standing before the bar calling for brandy. He drank it neat, and called for another glass and another, which he tossed off. The ringing of a bell and cries of, "They're off!" dragged him to the grand stand; but though he strained his eyes and looked in the direction of the running horses he could not see them. They were all mixed up in seemingly inextricable confusion. A man close to him shouted, "Tricksy wins! Tricksy wins, for a pony!" Tricksy! It was the horse he ought to have backed. "You're a damned liar!" He thought he had screamed the words aloud, but only a gurgling, inarticulate sound had escaped him. From a hundred throats came the cries, "Tricksy wins! Tricksy wins! Tricksy wins!" The horses rushed past the post, and the race was over.
Jeremiah wiped the perspiration from his face, and dug his handkerchief in his eyes to clear them. The winning numbers were going up, and he saw them in a red mist. Tricksy first, Bamboo second, Moselle third. Morning Light nowhere.
What a cursed fool he had been! Fortune was within his grasp, and he had missed it – had wilfully thrown it away. His "system" pointed unerringly to the backing of Tricksy, and he had allowed himself to be turned from the certainty by a casual whisper. No, not casual; it was a plot to ruin him; it had been done purposely to destroy him. And here was Captain Ablewhite at his elbow again.
"Was there ever such infernal luck?" the Captain was saying to him. "I had the tip before I came on the course, and I go and back Moselle. I've no head, no head! Oh, if I only had your clear brain! No use growling, though; it won't mend matters. Better luck next time. None but the brave deserve the – mopusses. But I say, old fellow, you look upset. You don't mean to say you didn't back Tricksy! Why you told me after the second race that mathematically, it couldn't lose, and I said to myself, 'Pamflett'll back Tricksy, and I'll back Moselle. If Moselle wins, I can let Pamflett have a few hundreds to go on with. If Tricksy wins, he can oblige me.' You can't eh?"
"No, I can't," said Jeremiah, in a hoarse tone. "I didn't back it."
"You didn't back it!" exclaimed Captain Ablewhite, with an amazed look. "What did you back, then?"
"Morning Light."
"Morning Light! Have you lost your wits? Why, old chap, he was never meant! I could have told you that if you had asked me. He's going to win the Cambridgeshire. Upon my soul, this is the best thing I've heard for a month."
"I don't think so."
"How much did you back him for?"
"Four hundred."
Captain Ablewhite whistled. "Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk. There's one good thing – the game's alive. You can pull it back with interest, and you are not the man I take you for if you don't do it. What does it matter to you, a thousand or two? These things happen to all of us. I remember last year at Ascot – but it's no good raking it up. It knocked me over for a month, I can tell you that. From what I can understand of your system it's when you risk the most you win the most. Isn't it?"
"Yes," groaned Jeremiah.
"I thought so. Now if you had backed Tricksy, what would you have won?"
"Nearly five thousand," groaned Jeremiah.
"By all that's wonderful! And you didn't follow it out! But I'm a nice one, I am, to preach!" And then Captain Ablewhite said, playfully, "Don't you let me catch you at it again!"
"I won't," groaned Jeremiah.
"The beauty of the thing is, as I have said," continued Captain Ablewhite, "that the game's alive. It's always alive, and waiting for us. What is one miss? You can snap your fingers at it. All you've got to do is to increase your stake the next time. Old fellow, I give you my solemn word there's only one thing in life worth living for, and that is horse-racing and betting on it. If it was abolished, there are a thousand men in England who would put a bullet through their heads to-morrow; and I'd be one of them – I would! It isn't called a Royal sport for nothing. There never was anything like it, and there never will be anything like it. Great Scot! the fortunes I've seen lost and won! Come and have some fizz."
Jeremiah went and had some fizz, and then Captain Ablewhite asked him what his trouble was.
"I've lost all the ready money I brought with me," said Jeremiah.
"What of that? You want to go on betting?"
"Yes."
"Give me," said Captain Ablewhite, "your I O U for a thou."
What with his despair, and the mixed liquors he had imbibed, Jeremiah scarcely knew what he was doing; and under Captain Ablewhite's directions he wrote and signed an I O U for £1,000, which the gallant Captain comfortably deposited in his pocket-book.
"Come with me," said Captain Ablewhite. "By Jove! the numbers are going up."
Jeremiah went with him, and was introduced to a book-maker, to whom Captain Ablewhite whispered a few words.
"All right, Captain," said the book-maker. "The gentleman's name is good enough; but I thought he was quite a different sort of man."
Captain Ablewhite nodded, and took Jeremiah aside.
"Make your bets with him," said the Captain, in a low tone, "in the name of Farebrother. You've got Farebrother's cards about you; give him one. Before the meeting is over you will be in clover. You can bet with him without staking a shilling."
But on the Friday morning of the Doncaster Meeting Jeremiah was in anything but clover. He was tossing about on a bed of nettles.
END OF VOL. II
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