Leaving that heaving, panting, surging tide of humanity for an instant, let us turn to the house, where Sewell was already engaged in preparing for the road.
“You are going to ride for me, Trafford?” said Sewell, as the other entered his dressing-room, where, with the aid of his servant, he was busily packing up for the road.
“I 'm not sure; that is, I don't like to refuse, and I don't see how to accept.”
“My wife has told you; I 'm sent for hurriedly.”
“Yes.”
“Well?” said he, looking round at him from his task.
“Just as I have told you already; I 'd ride for you as well as a heavy fellow could take a light-weight's place, but I don't understand about your book—am I to stand your engagements?”
“You mean, are you to win all the money I'm sure to pocket on the match?”
“No, I don't mean that,” said he, laughing; “I never thought of trading on another man's brains; I simply meant, am I to be responsible for the losses?”
“If you ride Crescy as you ought to ride him, you needn't fret about the losses?”