“I should like to see those letters.”
“I haven't got copies. I didn't keep a letter-book in those days. Let's talk of something else. I have some news. I am going in for breeding race-horses.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I say. I have calculated it all out, and I find I shall make from fifteen to twenty per cent, on my money.”
“By breeding race-horses! And where are you going to breed them?”
“You know those stables on the Portslade Road where the veterinary surgeon used to live? I am going to take that place. The rent is three hundred pounds a year; there are fifty acres of pasture, and stabling for thirty horses. The dwelling-house is not a very aristocratic-looking place, but it will do for the present; when I begin to make money I shall go in for alterations. You can't do everything at once.”
“You do astonish me. And where are you going to get the money to do all this? You will require at least twenty thousand pounds capital.”
“More than that. You would not be able to work a place like that under twenty-five thousand pounds,” Willy replied sententiously. “I have got about eight thousand left of my own, and I came in for a legacy of three thousand at the beginning of this year—an aunt of mine left me the money; and my father has agreed to let me have fourteen thousand on condition of my abandoning all further claim upon him. The bulk of his fortune will now be divided among my sisters. Berkins advised him to accept my offer.”
“I should think so indeed; your father is worth ten thousand a year.”
“No, nothing like that. His business has been going down for years past. Last year he lost heavily again; if it weren't for his investments he wouldn't be able to go on with it. The business is done for; I knew that long ago. My father and I could never agree about how the accounts should be kept. That head clerk of his is an awful duffer.”