Presently, however, he appeared to get irritated too by something some one else said, and it ended by his first doubling the bet, and then laying Warton three fifties to two against his horse.
As Warton walked on to the Shorts’ he was half inclined to think that it would have been better for him if he had taken the bookmaker’s advice, and not been in such a hurry. The entries would be published the next morning, and he might just as well have waited before he made his bet. He might have guessed that Howlett, though he did seem at first unwilling to bet, was not the sort of man who would throw away his money merely because he got warm in a dispute.
When he bet against Lone Star he must have had an idea of some other horse being entered which could beat her. Still Warton thought he knew pretty well the horses entered for the race. It was then limited to colonial-bred horses, and he was sure that there was nothing to beat him.
The Short family consisted of the father, mother, and one daughter—the fair Polly. Old Tom Short was a taciturn old gentleman, who spent his evenings sitting in the corner of the stoop of his house, with a glass of whiskey-and-water before him, and a pipe in his mouth—now and then growling out some remark about the wages of the Kaffirs, the price of wood, or other subjects connected with the winning of diamonds. He met with his wife during a visit to England, after he made some money on the Australian gold-fields. If he had since repented of his bargain he kept it to himself. She in her way was a very fine lady, being the daughter of a bankrupt grocer, but also the half great-niece of a London alderman, who had been knighted. The alderman’s picture always hung on the wall in the drawing-room of their house, and Mrs Short generally found an excuse for referring to it, when strangers were present, at least once in ten minutes. As one looked at Polly Short one wondered how she could have been the child of her parents, and where she could have got all her beauty and charm from, and the keen sense of humour that gave a mischievous twinkle to her eyes. Her love of admiration might have come from her mother, and she had, for all her dainty beauty, a curious look of her rugged old father. But there was much about her which seemed incongruous with her surroundings. When Warton came in he thought that he detected a considerable diminution in the cordiality of Mrs Short’s greeting. Once he had been rather a favourite visitor, but since Sir Harry Ferriard had come on the scene, he had noticed a decided alteration.
“How do you do, Mr Warton, we ’alf expects Sir ’Arry would drop in this evening—have you seen him?”
“I don’t think you will see him to-night, I just saw him setting down to a game of cards,” answered Warton, whose expression by no means brightened up when he heard Ferriard’s name as soon as he came into the house.
“Dear, dear, it’s a pity he is so fond of play and gambling. But there, it’s a weakness of the aristocracy; they are ’igh spirited, and must ’ave excitement, as I know only too well!” Mrs Short gave a sigh and looked at the picture.
“He won’t hurt himself at it, I fancy,” Warton said with rather a snarl. “From what I hear he has been rather a heavy winner.”
“Well, somebody must win at cards, and I don’t see why you should sneer at any one who happens to be fortunate, as if there was anything wrong about it,” said Polly, resenting rather the tone of Warton’s remark than the actual words.
“You’re quite right; I am sure I don’t wish to say anything against him, everybody seems to like him very well, and all I know is more or less in his favour,” Warton answered, feeling somewhat ashamed of himself for having spoken rather unfairly about a man whom he disliked.