“This?”
“Yes. Book.”
The trainer felt in the pocket, and produced a betting-book.
“What’s to be done with this. Sir?”
“Read.”
The trainer held the book before him; open at the last two pages on which entries had been made. He rolled his head impatiently from side to side of the sofa pillow. It was plain that he was not yet sufficiently recovered to be able to read what he had written.
“Shall I read for you, Sir?”
“Yes.”
The trainer read three entries, one after another, without result; they had all been honestly settled. At the fourth the prostrate man said, “Stop!” This was the first of the entries which still depended on a future event. It recorded the wager laid at Windygates, when Geoffrey had backed himself (in defiance of the surgeon’s opinion) to row in the University boat-race next spring—and had forced Arnold Brinkworth to bet against him.
“Well, Sir? What’s to be done about this?”