But from the pocket into which she herself had put four half-crowns that very morning—all she could spare—Stan drew out a large handful of silver, with numerous pieces of gold sticking up among it. A glance told her that Stan was not likely to have backed a winner at any such price as that. Other people did, but not Stan. She had turned a little pale.
“Tell me, quick, Stan!” she gasped.
“You laughed rather at the Fortune & Brooks idea, didn’t you?”
“Oh, don’t joke, darling!——”
“Eh?... I say, you’re upset. Anything been happening to-day? Look here, let me get you a drink or something!”
“Do you mean—you’ve got a job, Stan?”
“Rather!—I say, do let me get you a drink——”
“I shall faint if you don’t tell me——”
She probably would....
Stan had got a job. What was it, this job that had enabled Stan to come home, before he had lifted a finger to earn it, with masses of silver in his pocket, and the clean quids sticking up out of the lump like almonds out of a trifle?