"What's three days?" said French. "There are ten days before the race, and I can't move the horse to Epsom till the 13th, so that gives them eight days to work in."
"Does Giveen know Lewis' address in London?"
"Faith, I don't know, but he can easily get it from Lewis' bailiff, who must have been down at Drumgool, kicking his heels, a week now."
"What sort of moneylender is this Lewis?"
"What sort? Why, there's only one sort of moneylender, and that's a beast. There's nothing to be done with Lewis. If he gets my address here, he'll put in a man to seize Garryowen, and I'll be kiboshed. Sure, it's enough to make one want to tear one's hair. The colt's in the pink of condition. Another week, and he'll be perfect. There's nothing that puts hoof to turf will beat him, and to think of him being barred out of the race by a beast of a moneylender and a bum-bailiff is enough to drive one crazy."
"Look here," said Mr. Dashwood, "why not go to Lewis, explain all, and offer him half-profits if the horse wins and he doesn't interfere with its running?"
"Give him half-profits!" shouted French, nearly upsetting his teacup. "I'd cut his throat first!"
"They wouldn't be much use to him after," said Miss Grimshaw, rising from the table. "What time is it now? Ten? Well, shall we go down to the schoolroom, Mr. Dashwood, and see if there is anything more to be done? Effie can come too; it will keep her out of mischief."
It was a glorious spring morning, the herald of a perfect spring day. The hedges were sprinkled with tiny points of green, and the Crowsnest children, free of school, were gathering wild violets and snowdrops and primroses in the woods for bazaar purposes.
The bazaar had its hand upon the countryside for miles round. The church, calling for new choir-stalls, had sent the little children into the woods to pick flowers for sale; the farmers' wives to their dairies to make butter; the farmers' daughters answered the call with crewel-work and pin-cushions; even the cottagers were not behind with gifts. There was something so pleasant in this response from the fields and the hedgerows, as it were, that it made one almost forget the snobbishness, small-mindedness, and pride of the prime movers in the affair.