“I should not,” he resumed—“propose your putting yourself to the trouble of getting into Parliament. That is no longer necessary to the career of a gentleman. But I should strongly recommend your winning the Derby.”
[p 67]
“I daresay you would!” I answered mirthfully—“It’s an admirable suggestion,—but not very easy to follow!”
“If you wish to win the Derby,” he rejoined quietly—“you shall win it. I’ll guarantee both horse and jockey!”
Something in his decisive tone impressed me, and I leaned forward to study his features more closely.
“Are you a worker of miracles?” I asked him jestingly—“Do you mean it?”
“Try me!” he responded—“Shall I enter a horse for you?”
“You can’t; it’s too late,” I said. “You would need to be the devil himself to do it. Besides I don’t care about racing.”
“You will have to amend your taste then,”—he replied—“That is, if you want to make yourself agreeable to the English aristocracy, for they are interested in little else. No really great lady is without her betting book, though she may be deficient in her knowledge of spelling. You may make the biggest literary furore of the season, and that will count as nothing among ‘swagger’ people, but if you win the Derby you will be a really famous man. Personally speaking I have a great deal to do with racing,—in fact I am devoted to it. I am always present at every great race,—I never miss one; I always bet, and I never lose! And now let me proceed with your social plan of action. After winning the Derby you will enter for a yacht race at Cowes, and allow the Prince of Wales to beat you just narrowly. Then you will give a grand dinner, arranged by a perfect chef,—and you will entertain His Royal Highness to the strains of ‘Britannia rules the waves,’ which will serve as a pretty compliment. You will allude to the same well-worn song in a graceful speech,—and the probable result of all this will be one, or perhaps two Royal invitations. So far, so good. With the heats of summer you will go to Homburg to drink the waters there whether you require them or not,—and in the autumn you will assemble a shooting-party at the country seat before-mentioned which you will have purchased, and [p 68] invite Royalty to join you in killing the poor little partridges. Then your name in society may be considered as made, and you can marry whatever fair lady happens to be in the market!”
“Thanks!—much obliged!” and I gave way to hearty laughter—“Upon my word Lucio, your programme is perfect! It lacks nothing!”
“It is the orthodox round of social success,” said Lucio with admirable gravity—“Intellect and originality have nothing whatever to do with it,—only money is needed to perform it all.”