“Well, he took me to Thwaite’s where I was to become a member, and after a little while he left me to go and have a long pow-wow with the committee—he was a member of it. He told me to make myself at home, and I did so as soon as his back was turned. Almost the first thing with which I became sociable was a book which, at my first sight of it, had a fascination for me. The binding was very old, and the leather was worn, as you will see the leather of a pocketbook, till it looks and feels like a nice soap. That book brought me here.”
He paused, and in the silence the Young Doctor pushed a glass of milk and brandy towards him. He sipped the contents. The others were in a state of tension. Kitty Tynan’s eyes were fixed on him as though hypnotised, and the Young Doctor was scarcely less interested; while the widow knitted harder and faster than she had ever done, and she could knit very fast indeed.
“It was the betting-book of Thwaite’s, and it dated back almost to the time of the conquest of Quebec. Great men dead and gone long ago—near a hundred and fifty years ago-had put down their bets in the book, for Thwaite’s was then what it is now, the highest and best sporting club in the world.”
Kitty Tynan’s face had a curious look, for there was a club in Askatoon, and it was said that all the “sports” assembled there. She had no idea what Thwaite’s Club in St. James’s Street would look like; but that did not matter. She supposed it must be as big as the Askatoon Court House at least.
“Bets—bets—bets by men whose names were in every history, and the names of their sons and grandsons and great-grandsons; and all betting on the oddest things as well as the most natural things in the world. Some of the bets made were as mad as the bets I made myself. Oh! ridiculous, some of them were; and then again bets on things that stirred the world to the centre, from the loss of America to the beheading of Louis XVI.
“It was strange enough to see the half-dozen lines of a bet by a marquis whose great-grandson bet on the Franco-German War; that the Government which imposed the tea-tax in America would be out of power within six months; or that the French Canadians would join the colonists in what is now the United States if they revolted. This would be cheek-by-jowl with a bet that an heir would be born to one new-married pair before another pair. The very last bet made on the day I opened the book was that Queen Victoria would make Lord Salisbury a duke, that a certain gentleman known as S. S. could find his own door in St. James’s Square, blindfold, from the club, and that Corsair would win the Derby.
“For two long hours I sat forgetful of everything around me, while I read that record—to me the most interesting the world could show. Every line was part of the history of the country, a part of the history of many lives, and it was all part of the ritual of the temple of the great god Chance. I was fascinated, lost in a land of wonders. Men came and went, but silently. At last there entered a gentleman whose picture I had so often seen in the papers—a man as well known in the sporting world as was Chamberlain in the political world. He was dressed spectacularly, but his face oozed good-nature, though his eyes were like bright bits of coal. He bred horses, he raced this, he backed that, he laid against the other; he was one of the greatest plungers, one of the biggest figures on the turf. He had been a kind of god to me—a god in a grey frock-coat, with a grey top-hat and field-glasses slung over his shoulder; or in a hunting-suit of the most picturesque kind—great pockets in a well-fitting coat, splendid striped waistcoat. Well, there, I only mention this because it played so big a part in bringing me to Askatoon.
“He came up to the table where I sat in the room with the beautiful Adam’s fireplace and the ceiling like an architrave of Valhalla, and said, ‘Do you mind—for one minute?’ and he reached out a hand for the book.
“I made way for him, and I suppose admiration showed in my eyes, because as he hastily wrote—what a generous scrawl it was!—he said to me, ‘Haven’t we met somewhere before? I seem to remember your face.
“Great gentleman, I thought, because it was certain he knew he had never seen me before, and I was overcome by the reflection that he wished to be civil in that way to me. ‘It’s my father’s face you remember, I should think,’ I answered. ‘He is a member here. I am only a visitor. I haven’t been elected yet.’ ‘Ah, we must see to that!’ he said with a smile, and laid a hand on my shoulder as though he’d known me many a year—and I only twenty-one. ‘Who is your father?’ he asked. When I told him he nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I know him—Crozier of Castlegarry; but I knew his father far better, though he was so much older than me, and indeed your grandfather also. Look—in this book is the first bet I ever made here after my election to the club, and it was made with your grandfather. There’s no age in the kingdom of sport, dear lad,’ he added, laughing—‘neither age nor sex nor position nor place. It’s the one democratic thing in the modern world. It’s a republic inside this old monarchy of ours. Look, here it is, my first bet with your grandfather—and I’m only sixty now!’ He smoothed the page with his hand in a manner such as I have seen a dean do with his sermon-paper in a cathedral puplit. ‘Here it is, thirty-six years ago.’ He read the bet aloud. It was on the Derby, he himself having bet that the Prince of Wale’s horse would win. ‘Your grandfather, dear lad,’ he repeated, ‘but you’ll find no bets of mine with your father. He didn’t inherit that strain, but your grandfather and your great-grandfather had it—sportsmen both, afraid of nothing, with big minds, great eyes for seeing, and a sense for a winner almost uncanny. Have you got it by any chance? Yes, yes, by George and by John, I see you have; you are your grandfather to a hair! His portrait is here in the club—in the next room. Have a look at it. He was only forty when it was done, and you’re very like him; the cut of the jib is there.’ He took my hand. ‘Good-bye, dear lad,’ he said; ‘we’ll meet-yes, we’ll meet often enough if you are like your grandfather. And I’ll always like to see you,’ he added generously.