The Squatter was getting minute by minute more joyous. The glassy shining light of alcohol shone from his eyes. He was mellow, unctuous, benevolent. All men were his brothers, more particularly this crowd of wolves and lambs; and all women were his sisters, all excepting one fair maid, and for her he felt more than a brother’s regard.
“I’ll tell you what it is, my dear,” he said, leaning over the bar and addressing Bertha, “I’ll tell you what it is. To-morrow night in this bar you shall drink Revolver’s health out of the Sydney Cup, and what’s more, I’ll make you a present of it. Now, mark my words, and what I say I stick to. To-morrow night the Cup shall be yours.”
Bertha laughed at the offer, but graciously, neither assenting or dissenting. In any case, it was useless to argue with a man who had drunk three bottles of champagne. Presently the Squatter subsided. He wanted to sleep on the floor; “sleep at the feet of beauty,” he murmured, but his friends hurried him to a cab, and that night he was no more seen.
With less demonstration Alec approached the bar, and seizing a moment when Bertha was not busy, said to her—
“Don’t you mind that old fool, Bertha. I’ve got Revolver’s measure. Your namesake can make a common hack of him. Don’t you put a penny on Revolver. Bertha’s as right as rain, and bar accidents she’s bound to win. But you shall have the Cup to-morrow all the same. As that old fool says, you shall drink the winner’s health, but the name will not be Revolver, for Bertha will come in first.”
Huey had heard some of this talk; heard with an inward chuckle of derision, and the smile of amused thanks had not passed from Bertha’s face before he too had edged his way to the front, and speaking very low, so that only she could hear, he said—
“Pay no attention, Miss Summerhayes, to all this foolishness. Revolver and Bertha are very good horses, no doubt, but there are plenty better, and one of them for certain will be running to-morrow. Neither the Squatter nor Alec Booth will win the Cup, for there is another who means to defeat them both, and have the pleasure of presenting you with the Sydney Cup.”
“And who is this kind person?” inquired Bertha.
“Your very humble servant,” replied Huey.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Gosper, for your kind intentions, but all this talk is not serious. There is many a slip between the Sydney Cup and the lip. I hope you may all win, if it be possible; and if you all lose I shall think of you all just the same.”