Unaccountable Behaviour of Sir Anthony Fanshawe
Sir Anthony was partaking of a solitary breakfast when Mr Belfort was announced. He looked up genially from a red sirloin as the Honourable Charles came in, and offered him a share of the meal.
“Breakfasted an hour since,” said Mr Belfort briskly. “But I don’t mind taking some of that ale.”
Sir Anthony pushed it towards him. “You’re very energetic, Charles,” he remarked. “Why this ungodly hour for a visit?”
“Well, I’ve had business to attend to, y’see,” said Mr Belfort, nodding mysteriously. “But that’s not what I’m come upon. It’s about that grey mare, Tony.”
“My dear Charles, I really cannot talk horseflesh so early in the morning.”
“Oh, come now!” protested Mr Belfort. “It’s past nine, man! The fact of the matter is, Orton offers me a hundred guineas for her, but I told him she was more than half promised to you. But if you think she’s not up to your weight — ”
“I have a fancy for her,” said Sir Anthony. “I’ll give you Orton’s price.”
“Good God, man, no! If you want the mare she’s yours at the figure we named!” cried Mr Belfort, horrified. “Burn it, I’m not a demned merchant, Anthony!”
They embarked straightway on a friendly wrangle. A compromise was reached at last, and Mr Belfort disappeared into his tankard. When he emerged a thought seemed to strike him. “I say, Tony, there is no doubt as to young Merriot’s courage, is there?” he inquired.