"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."