“I understood,” remarked Miss Huntingdon, “that his father was a very wealthy man, and allowed his son, as you used to put it, no end of money.”
“True, aunt; but I think he has been betting and losing pretty heavily lately, and finds he must pull up a bit.”
“And so he is going to part with his mare by raffle,” said the squire; “pray what does he want for her?”
“Oh, a hundred guineas—and very cheap, too. Will you put in, father?”
“Not I, my boy; I cannot say that I am very fond of these raffles.”
“Well, Amos,” said Walter, turning to his brother, “what does your worship say?”
Amos shook his head.
“Nay, don’t be ill-natured,” said the other. “It’s a guinea a ticket: I’ll take one, and you can take one, and if I win I’ll pay you back your guinea, for then I shall get a horse worth a hundred guineas for two guineas; and if you win, you can either keep the mare or hand her over to me, and I will pay you back your guinea.”
“And suppose we neither of us win?” asked Amos.
“Oh, then,” replied his brother, “we shall have done a good-natured thing by giving Gregson a helping hand out of his difficulties, for it will take a good deal of hunting up to get a hundred names for the raffle.”