Chapter V: I (4)

Rumor says that the young Earl of Clarehaven, who has recently had
very heavy losses on the turf, positively intends to capture the
Derby this year. It was only a few months ago that we had to
condole with the gallant young nobleman on the sad necessity which
forced him to sell that great horse Moonbeam last year to the
well-known South African capitalist, Mr. Lionel Houston, who
indorsed the public view that Moonbeam's defeat in the Derby by his
own horse Chimpanzee was not true form when he sold Chimpanzee to
an Australian syndicate of breeders and bought Moonbeam for the
stud he is now forming, and which we have no doubt will give many
famous new names to the history of English racing. But our readers'
present concern is what is popularly known as the Starkey Lodge
Puzzle. We have the highest authority for saying that this is no
longer a puzzle. At an important trial held in great secrecy on the
Starkey Lodge training-grounds it was conclusively established that
Vanity Girl is more than likely to give the Blue Riband of the turf
to Lord Clarehaven and console him for the failure of Moonbeam. It
will interest our readers from the smallest punter upward to hear
that Full Moon, the victor of the Two Thousand Guineas and the
present Derby favorite, will not run at Epsom, having been sold
like his half-brother to Mr. Lionel Houston, who no doubt intends
to keep him for the St. Leger, a race which he is ambitious of
winning. We need scarcely point out to our readers the obvious tip
for this year's Derby, and we do not hesitate to plump right out
for Vanity Girl as the winner. We were the only paper to advise our
readers not to back Full Moon until the intentions of the stable
were a little plainer, and to all those who failed to follow our
advice we can only say, "I told you so." Lord Clarehaven has done
well to scratch the winner of the Guineas, for there is no doubt
that if both the colt and his stable companion had faced the
starter at Epsom the public would have followed the son of Cyllene.
As it is, we confidently expect to see Vanity Girl a raging
favorite before the week is out, and we may remind our readers that
Lord Clarehaven's beautiful chestnut has already shown that she
likes the Epsom course by winning the Woodcote Stakes last year.
Her running at Newmarket last autumn may be discounted. We happened
to know that the stable was coughing; as we have hinted, the
gallant young nobleman who sports the black, white, and purple was
very hard hit by her defeats, and this expression of renewed
confidence in the chestnut daughter of Spearmint cannot be
disregarded.

The people who had hurried to put their money on Full Moon grumbled loudly; but the public appreciated the clear lead that Tony had given them. He had put his own money on Vanity Girl before the result of the trial leaked out, and though he had obtained tens against the first two thousand he wagered, the news ran round the clubs so quickly that even before the public was warned by the scratching of Full Moon that Vanity Girl was the hope of Clare, he was finding it hard to get fours against the filly; after that her price shortened to five to two; in the week before the race it was only six to four; in the ring on the day itself not a bookmaker was risking more than eleven to ten, and with money still pouring in faster than ever she seemed likely to start at odds on, an unprecedented price for a horse that had not been seen in public since two consecutive defeats in the autumn of the year before. The public could not be blamed for their eagerness to back the filly. It was generally known that Clarehaven either had to win the Derby or be ruined, and if he preferred Vanity Girl to the winner of the Guineas at such a crisis in his affair she must indeed be sure of her success. If the public had known that even his wife's honor was in pawn besides his house and his lands they could not have been more confident.

"If Vanity Girl fails," Dorothy asked, on the morning of the race, "you won't have a halfpenny left?"

"I might have an odd hundred pounds," Tony reckoned.

"And your mother--and Bella?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose Uncle Chat will look after them."

"And us?"

"Oh, we'll emigrate or something. Rather fun, don't you know. I shall wangle something. The going will be hardish," he said, looking at the sky, "and that's always in her favor. She hated that Newmarket mud last autumn. Come on, Doodles, the car's waiting."

They walked down the steps of the flat, and the porter who had hurried out to shut the door of the car touched his cap.

"Good luck, my lady! Good luck, my lord! Shepherd's Market is on Vanity Girl to the last copper."

"Put on a sovereign for yourself, Galloway," said his lordship, grandly proffering the coin.

Several loafers who had sometimes run for his lordship's cabs shouted, "Hurrah for the Derby favorite!" and Tony flung them some silver to back his filly. The road to Epsom was thronged; Tony, who was obviously feeling nervous, had left the driving to the chauffeur, and was sitting back with Dorothy in the body of the car.

"I think Lonnie might have come with us," he said, fretfully.

"Does it bore you so much driving with me alone?" she asked.

"Don't be silly! Of course not. But I'm nervy and.... Oh, but what rot! Nothing can go wrong."

They were passing a four-in-hand with loud toots upon their Gabriel horn, which were being answered by the guard of the coach, when he suddenly recognized the occupants of the car. Standing up, he blew a dear "Viewhalloo!" and shouted: "Berkshire's on the filly, my lord, to the last baby! Hurrah for Vanity Girl!" There was a block in the traffic; the occupants of every vehicle in earshot, from the gray hats and laces of the four-in-hand to the pearlies and plumes of a coster's cart, applauded the earl and countess, each after his own fashion.

"Don't forget the Mile End Road, Mr. Hearl of Clarehaven," bawled one of the costers, "if that's who you are. Hoobeeluddiray!" he went on, and caught his moke an ecstatic thwack on the crupper.

In the ring friends and acquaintances crowded round them, eager to say how they had backed Vanity Girl and how fervently they hoped for her victory. There was no doubt that if the filly was beaten a groan of disappointment would resound through England.

"I think it's so sweet that Lord Clarehaven's horse should be called Vanity Girl," some foolish woman was babbling. "So sweet and romantic," she twittered on.

"Yes, what devotion," chirped another as foolish.

Tony wanted to go round to the paddock to have a few last words with Starkey and the jockey O'Hara, but Dorothy did not think she could bear to see the filly before the race.

"I'm so nervous," she said, "that I feel I should communicate my nerves to her. But don't you bother about me. I'll wait for you in the inclosure."

"Where's Houston?" said Tony, irritably. "I thought he was going to meet us."

At that moment a messenger-boy came up. "Are you the Earl of Clarehaven?" he asked, perkily, and handed Tony a note, which the latter read out:

"DEAR CLAREHAVEN,--To what will I'm sure be my lifelong regret,
important business prevents me from being at Epsom to see your
triumph. Believe me, my dear fellow, that there is no one who hopes
more cordially than I do for your success to-day. My kindest
regards to your wife and tell her from me that I'm looking forward
to our Derby dinner at the Carlton to-night.

Yours ever sincerely,

LIONEL HOUSTON."

"Funny chap! But I believe he's sincere," Tony muttered, "though it would be all to his interest if I lost."

But how much to his interest, Dorothy thought, how little did Tony know.

She waited for him in the company of the twittering women until he returned from the paddock.

"They're going down now," he told her.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Yes, yes." He was biting his nails and cursing the focusing arrangements of his field-glasses.

"They're off!"

The roar of the crowd was like a mighty storm within which isolated remarks were heard like the spars of a ship going one by one.

"She isn't finding it so easy."

"He's taking her into the rails too soon."

"My God! I wouldn't lay sixpence there won't be an objection for crossing. Did you see that?"

"Go on, Vanity Girl! Go on!"

"Go on, you blasted favorite!"

"She's swishing her tail."

"No, she's not. That's ... yes, it's her. Vanity Girl! Vanity Girl!"

"Go on, Vanity Girl!"

The roaring died down to a suppressed murmur of agitation.

"What's the matter with the favorite?"

"O'Hara's flogging her along."

The horses flashed past the stand with the black, white and purple of Clarehaven twinkling in the ruck like a setting star.

"Tony!" Dorothy screamed. "She's beaten!"

"Oh well," said the owner, "don't make such a noise about it."

He was smiling a foolish, fixed smile, but he let his glasses drop from his hands on the toes of a lady close by.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," said Tony, raising his hat. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

The injured lady glared at him; it was her first Derby, and perhaps she did not realize that it mattered who won or lost.

"Come on, Doodles," said Tony. "Home. For God's sake, let's get home."

He would not wait to hear any explanation of the filly's defeat, but pushed his way savagely through the crowd to find the car.

"Gorblime!" a ragged vender of unauthorized race-cards was ejaculating near the garage. "Gor strike me blurry well pink! She'd make a blurry tortoise crick his blurry neck looking round to see why she was dawdling behind. Race-horse? Why, I reckon a keb-horse could give her three stone and win in a blurry canter, I do. Vanity Girl? Vanity Bitch, that's what she ought to have been called."

VII

The news of the defeat had already reached Halfmoon Street, and Galloway inclined his head when they passed quickly from the car into the hall of the flats, as if his patrons were returning from a funeral.

"We must telephone round to the Carlton to say that the dinner is off," said Tony; even that small action he left to his wife, himself sitting for the rest of the evening mute of speech, but drumming upon the table with his fingers or sometimes tambourinating upon an ash-tray. His dinner consisted of anchovy sandwiches washed down by brandy. There was no word from Houston, and Dorothy supposed that he was waiting to hear from her. "Going! Going! Clare! Clare! Clare!" The auctioneer's hammer seemed to be striking her temples, and, passing her hand over her forehead, she realized that it was only Tony who was drumming upon the table or tambourinating upon the ash-tray. She went to bed before he did and, lying awake in the rosy light of the reading-lamp, she wondered if, perhaps, he would try to forget this day in her arms, half hoped he would, and picked up the hand-mirror beside her bed to see how she was looking. He must have sat up drinking till very late--she had fallen asleep and did not hear him come to bed--and in the morning his eyes were bloodshot, his razor tremulous.

The letter-box was choked with bills; but there were several letters of condolence, and a reminder of the Day of Judgment from an enthusiastic enemy of the turf who, with ill-concealed relish, advised his lordship to observe the hand of God in the retribution which had been meted out to him and to turn away from his wickedness. Finally there were letters from O'Hara, the jockey, and Houston.

EPSOM SUMMER MEETING 1914.

_Wednesday evening._

MY LORD,--I had hoped to have a few words with your lordship after
the race, but was told you already left the course. I was intending
to say that I could not go through what I suffered to-day on
Friday, and would be obliged if your lordship wouldn't insist I
would ride Vanity Girl in the Oaks. My lord, the filly is tired,
and I wouldn't say another race mightn't kill her dead. It's not
for me to give advice to your lordship, but how you ever come to
run her in the Derby I don't know. She never was a stayer. I saw
that plainly enough last autumn at Newmarket. I'm going back to
France as soon as I hear from your lordship you won't run her in
the Oaks. I'm engaged to ride Full Moon in the Grand Prix by Mr.
Houston, and I hope I won't have to suffer what I suffered this
afternoon. It's enough to make a jockey chuck riding for good and
all.

I am,

Your lordship's obedient servant,

PATRICK O'HARA.

Pardon me if I've written a bit unfeelingly. It wasn't the filly's
fault. She was tired. She didn't seem to know where she was,
somehow, and when I flogged her along it near broke my heart to do
it. She couldn't seem to understand what she was wanted to do. Poor
little lady, I was so savage I could have shot her. But afterward I
went and had a look at her, and had a few words with Mr. Starkey
when he was abusing her.

QZI ALBANY, W.

_Wednesday._

DEAR CLAREHAVEN,--I'm not going to worry you with sympathy at such
a moment. But I'm writing as soon as possible to let you know that
last week, owing to circumstances which would not interest anybody
except a business man, I was compelled to part with my Clare
mortgages for ready money, and I'm afraid that without doubt
Reinhardt and Co. will foreclose on Monday. I wish I could offer to
lend you the money to put yourself straight again, but I have been
speculating myself and for the moment am a little short. By the
way, I think Full Moon is a good thing for the Grand Prix. Perhaps
you might get a bit on. Kindest regards to Lady Clarehaven.

Sincerely,

LIONEL HOUSTON.

Tony telegraphed to scratch Vanity Girl for the Oaks and ordered that she should be sold outright for what she would fetch; L200 was the figure, a tenth of what she had cost as a yearling and an insignificant fraction of what she had cost in ruinous disappointment, to which, perhaps, dishonor was soon to be added.

Houston's letter showed plainly that nothing was to be hoped for in that quarter.

"Reinhardt and Co.," scoffed Tony. "In my opinion Reinhardt and Co. includes Houston."

Dorothy wondered if the communication was intended to bring her quickly to heel, to show her brutally that unless she kept her bargain Clare was lost. She supposed that somehow Houston would be ingenious enough to keep Tony from being suspicious when he found his house and lands restored to him, and she even wondered if under the demoralizing effect of gambling he would much mind if he did know. She looked at him with a feeling half compassionate, half contemptuous while he was calculating, with an optimism rapidly rising, every knickknack in the flat at four times its value in the sale-room. She persuaded him to go out and forget his troubles at the theater, and telephoned to the Albany that she was coming to see Mr. Houston after dinner.

Dorothy dressed herself in a frock of champagne silk and wore no jewelry except a drop pendant of black pearls, thinking ironically, when she fastened it round her neck, how premature Tony had been in estimating that it would fetch L500 at auction. She flung over her shoulders a diaphanous black opera-cloak stenciled in gold and, covering her face with a heavy veil of black Maltese lace, she passed out of Halfmoon Street and walked slowly up Piccadilly in the June starlight. On second thought she decided to enter Albany from Burlington Street instead of through the courtyard, and, turning into Bond Street, moved like a ghost along the pavements where on thronged mornings in old Vanity days her radiance and roses used to compete for the public regard with the luxurious shops on either side. Burlington Street at this hour was deserted, and the porter of Albany with his appearance of an antique coachman, and his manner between a butler's and a beadle's, dared not hesitate to admit such an empress, and perhaps marveled, when he watched her walk imperiously along the glass-roofed cloister that smelled of freshly watered geraniums toward QZI, with what honey the ugly tenant of it was able to attract this proud-pied moth.

Lady Clarehaven might have been excused for feeling a heroine, a Monna Vanna in the tent of the conqueror, when she found herself in the big square room which she now visited for the first time. She did not indulge herself with heroics, however; it seemed to her so natural for her to save Clare that the adventure was as commonplace as when once in early days on the stage she had pawned a piece of jewelry she did not like in order to save a set of furs to which she attached a great importance. She threw back the opera-cloak and sat down in an arm-chair to wait for Houston with as little perturbation as if she were waiting for a dinner guest in her own drawing-room.

Suddenly he appeared from an inner doorway and, turning on several more lights, looked at her. He was in evening dress, and the sudden glare gave the impression that he was going to perform; he looked more like an intelligent ape than ever when he was in evening dress.

"Well, here I am," she said.

Her coolness seemed to confuse him, and he began to ask her how she liked his rooms, to say that he had been lucky enough to take them on as they stood from a man called Prescott who had killed himself here. One had the impression that he had bought the furniture for a song on account of the unpleasant associations with a suicide.

"I'm rather tired of values," said Dorothy. "Clarehaven has been valuing the flat at Halfmoon Street."

"Will you have something to drink?"

"Do you think that I require stimulating? Thanks, I don't."

It was curious that this man, who in Rhodes had appeared so sinister and powerful and almost irresistible, should here in this decorous room with only a background of good-breeding appear fussy and ineffective.

"But let me recommend you to have a drink," Dorothy laughed. "For, now that you've got me, you're as awkward as a baboon with a porcelain teacup."

Her instinct told her that she must dispel this atmosphere of embarrassment unless she wanted to be bowed out of the chambers as from those of a money-lender who had been compelled most respectfully and without offense to refuse a loan to her ladyship. The allusion to the baboon was sufficient. The decorum of Albany was shattered and Houston held her in his arms.

At that moment the servant tapped at the door and announced that Lord Clarehaven was in the anteroom; before Houston could hustle his quaking servant outside and lock the door Tony appeared in the entrance, a riding-crop in his hands.

"My God! you rascal," he was saying, "I've just found out all about you. I've been fooled by you and that scoundrel of a trainer you recommended. I've been ... That trial.... I've seen.... I've understood ... you blackguard!" Without noticing Dorothy he had forced Houston across a chair and was thumping him with the crop. "Yes, I've heard all about you.... Of course people tell me afterward ... damned cowards.... You damned sneaking hound ... I.D.B.... hound.., you dog ... and there's nothing to be done because you were too clever ... curse you ... but I'll have you booted off every racecourse in England...."

By this time he had beaten Houston insensible, and, looking up, perceived his wife.

"Tony," she cried, "you really are rather an old darling."

"What are you doing here?" he panted.

"I was pleading for Clare."

"You oughtn't to have done that," he said, roughly. "You might get yourself talked about, don't you know. Come along. It's rather lucky I blew in. I met old Cobbett, who talked to me like a father. Too late, of course, and nothing can be done. Besides.... However, come along. As you're dressed we might see the last act."

"We've seen that already," said Dorothy. So brilliant and gay was she that Tony forgot about everything. So did she, and they walked home arm in arm along the deserted streets of Mayfair like lovers.

The scene in Albany was not made public property; Houston came to himself in time to prevent that. Dorothy accepted Tony's interruption as a sign that fortune did not intend her to preserve Clare, and she now watched almost with equanimity the fabric of a great family crumble daily to irreparable ruin. Then Full Moon, the winner of the Guineas, scratched ignominiously for the Derby, won the Grand Prix in a canter, and the following letter from the Earl of Stilton, K.G., appeared in the _Times_:

SIR,--In the interests of our national sport, which all Englishmen
rightly regard as our most cherished possession, I call upon Lord
Clarehaven to give a public explanation of his recent behavior. The
facts are probably only too painfully known to many of your
readers. In May Lord Clarehaven's horse, Full Moon, won the Two
Thousand Guineas; two years ago his horse Moonbeam won the same
race. Moonbeam ran fourth in the Derby and was transferred to the
same stable as the winner, Chimpanzee. This horse, owned by Mr.
Lionel Houston, was scratched for the St. Leger, and the race was
won by Moonbeam. This was explicable; but when two years later
another of Lord Clarehaven's horses wins the Two Thousand Guineas
and finds his stable companion preferred to him to carry Lord
Clarehaven's colors in the Derby, when, furthermore, the chosen
filly runs like a plater, and when this morning we read that Full
Moon, now in the ownership of Mr. Lionel Houston, has won the Grand
Prix in a canter at a price which the totalizator puts at
sixty-three to one, a proof that nobody in Paris considered the
chances of this animal, the public may, perhaps, demand what it all
means. They will ask still more when I inform them that I have
absolute authority for saying that this horse was heavily backed in
England, which proves that by some his chance was considered
excellent. I have no wish to accuse his lordship of having
deliberately deceived the public for his own advantage; but I do
accuse him of folly that can only be characterized as criminal.
Perhaps he has been the victim of his friend and of his trainer; at
any rate, if his lordship was deceived about the chance of Vanity
Girl, and if it is true that the defeat of Vanity Girl in the Derby
represented to his lordship a loss of thousands of pounds in bets,
he should make this clear. In that case I have no hesitation in
accusing Mr. Lionel Houston, formerly known as Leopold Hausberg, of
having deliberately conspired with the Starkey Lodge trainer to
perpetrate a fraud not only upon their friend and patron, but also
upon the public.

I have the honor to be, sir,

Your obedient servant,

STILTON.

Although Lord Stilton's letter hit the nail on the head, Tony was so furious at being called a fool in public that he sent the following letter to the paper:

SIR,--If Lord Stilton had not been my father's friend and a much
older man than myself, I would pull his nose for the impudent
letter he has written about me. The running of my filly in the
Derby is an instance of the uncertainty of fortune, by which I am
the greatest loser. I was convinced by a trial which I saw with my
own eyes between Full Moon and Vanity Girl that the former did not
stand a chance against the filly. It was I who insisted upon
scratching him for the Derby so that the public might be spared the
unpleasant doubt that always exists when an owner runs two horses
in the same race. I sold the colt shortly after this trial to Mr.
Houston, because I wished to put every halfpenny I could raise upon
Vanity Girl. When I say that Mr. Houston is so little a friend of
mine that I was unfortunately compelled to horsewhip him in his
rooms on the day after the Derby, it will be understood even by
Lord Stilton that there can be no possible suggestion of any
collusion between myself and Mr. Houston. I do not know if Lord
Stilton seriously means to insinuate that I have benefited by Full
Moon's victory in the Grand Prix. If he does, the insinuation is
cowardly and unjust. If Lord Stilton is so much concerned for the
future of English sport, let him think twice before he hits a man
who is down. Full Moon did not carry a halfpenny of my money.

I am, sir, etc.,

CLAREHAVEN.

This letter, with the reference to Lord Stilton's nose excised by a judicious editor, rehabilitated Tony in the eyes of the public and earned him a gracious apology from Lord Stilton, who also had to apologize much less graciously to Houston and Starkey, being threatened with legal proceedings unless he did so. Had there been the least chance of substantiating the ugly rumors, both earls might have gone to law; unfortunately legal advice said that neither of them stood a chance with the astute pair, and public opinion contented itself with compassion for the gallant young nobleman who had been thus victimized.

It may have been the victory of Full Moon in the Grand Prix with its suggestion of what might have been, or it may have been only the invincible optimism of the gambler, that started Tony off again upon his vice. When by the middle of July he and Dorothy found themselves with the rent of the flat paid up to Michaelmas, with enough furniture and enough clothes for present needs and with L250 in ready money, he told Dorothy that their only chance was for him to make money at cards. It was in vain that she argued with him; he seemed to have learned nothing from this disastrous summer, and with L100 in his pocket he went out one night, to return at six o'clock the next morning with L1,000.

"My luck's in again," he declared, "and I've got a thundering good system. You shall come with me every night, and I will give you two hundred pounds, which I must not exceed. Nothing that I say must induce you to give me another halfpenny. If I lose the two hundred pounds I must go away. It'll be all right, you'll see. I'm playing at Arrowsmith's place in Albemarle Street. Arrowsmith himself has promised not to advance me anything above two hundred pounds, so it'll be all right."

Dorothy begged him to be satisfied with the L1,000; but it was useless, and the following night she accompanied him. He won another L1,000, and when they had walked back under a primrose morning sky to Halfmoon Street Tony was so elated that he handed over all his winnings to Dorothy. The next night he lost the stipulated L200, but he came away still optimistic.

"I'm not going to touch that two thousand" he assured her. "I've got fifty left of my own, and one always wins when one's down to nothing; but on no account are you to offer me a halfpenny from your money. It's absolutely essential that you should bank everything I make."

The next evening Tony took the keeper of the hell aside and told him that he was to be sure not to let him exceed L50; if he should lose that, Arrowsmith was not to accept his I.O.U. and on no condition to allow him to go on. They were playing _chemin de fer_ and Tony's luck had been poor; when his turn came to take the bank and he was stretching out his hand for the box of cards Arrowsmith told him he had already reached his limit.

"Oh, that's all right, Arrowsmith. I only meant that to count if I'd already had a bank."

"Excuse me, Lord Clarehaven, but I never go back on my word. The agreement we came to was...."

"That's all right," Tony interrupted, impatiently. "Dorothy, lend me some money."

"No, no. You made a promise, and really you must stick to it."

"Dash it! I haven't had a single bank this evening."

"You should have thought of that before."

"But, my dear girl, our agreement was that I shouldn't lose more than two hundred pounds at a sitting. I've only lost fifty pounds to-night."

"If I lend you any more," she said, "I must break into the two thousand pounds, which you told me I was not to do on any account."

The other players, with heavy, doll-like faces, sat round the table, waiting until the argument stopped and the game could be resumed. The keeper of the hell was firm; so was Dorothy; and Clarehaven had to yield his turn to his neighbor.

"I'll just stay and watch the play for a bit," he said. "It's only three o'clock." He took a banana from the sideboard and sat down behind the player who held the bank.

"No, no, come away," Dorothy begged him. "What is the good of tormenting yourself by watching other people play when you can't play yourself?"

"Damn it, Dorothy," he exclaimed, turning round angrily. "I wish to God I'd never brought you here. You always interfere with everything I want to do."

It happened that the bank which Tony had missed won steadily, and while the heavy-jowled man who held it raked in money from everybody, Tony watched him like a dog that watches his master eating. At last the bank was finished, and with a heavy sigh of satisfaction the owner of it passed on the box to his neighbor.

"How much did you make?" asked Tony, enviously.

"About two thousand five hundred. I'm not sure. I never count my winnings."

Tears of rage stood in Tony's eyes.

"God! Do you see what you've done for me by your confounded obstinacy?" he exclaimed to his wife.

All the way home he raged at her, and when they were in the flat he demanded that she should give him back all his L2,000.

"So you've reached the point," she said, bitterly, "when not even promises count?"

"If you don't give it back to me," Tony vowed, "I'll sell up the whole flat. Damn it, I'll even sell my boots," he swore, as he tripped over some outposts for which there was no place in the line that extended along the wall of his dressing-room.

Dorothy thought of that lunch-party in Christ Church and of the first time she had beheld those boots. She remembered that then she had beheld in them a symbol of boundless wealth. Now they represented a few shillings in a gambler's pocket. And actually next morning, in order to show that he had been serious the night before, Tony summoned two buyers of old clothes to make an offer for them.

"Don't be so childish," Dorothy exclaimed. "You can't sell your boots! Aren't you going down to camp this year?"

"To camp?" he echoed. "How the deuce do you think I'm going to camp without a halfpenny? No, my dear girl, a week ago I wrote to resign my commission in the N.D.D. You might make a slight effort to realize that we are paupers. And if you won't let me have any of that two thousand pounds we shall remain paupers."

At that moment a telegram was handed in:

All officers of North Devon Dragoons to report at depot
immediately.

"Hasn't that fool of an adjutant got my letter?" Tony exclaimed.

Another telegram arrived:

Thought under circumstances you would want to cancel letter holding
it till I see you.

"Circumstances? What circumstances?"

In the street outside a newspaper-boy was crying, "Austrian hultimatum! Austrian hultimatum!"

"My God!" Tony cried, a light coming into his eyes. "It can't really mean war? How perfectly glorious! Wonderful! Get out, you rascals!" and he hustled the old-clothes men out of the flat.

Three weeks later Dorothy received the following letter from Flanders:

DEAREST DOODLES,--You'd simply love this. I never enjoyed myself so
much in all my life. Can't write you a decent letter because I'm
just off chivvying Uhlans. It's got fox-hunting beat a thousand
times. Sorry we had that row when I made such an ass of myself at
Arrowsmith's that night. It's a lucky thing you were firm, because
you've got just enough to go on with until I get back. Mustn't say
too much in a letter; but I suppose we shall have chivvied these
bounders back to Berlin in two or three months. Then I shall really
have to settle down and do something in earnest. A man in ours says
that Queensland isn't such a bad sort of hole. Old Cleveden put me
against it by cracking it up so. It's suddenly struck me that
Houston is probably a spy. If he is, you might make it rather
unpleasant for him. I feel I haven't explained properly how sorry I
am, but it's so deuced hard in a letter. By the way, Uncle Chat has
just written rather a stupid letter about my mother's jointure.
Perhaps you'd go down and talk to him about it. He ought to
understand I'm too busy to bother about domestic finance at
present. I had another notion--rather a bright one--that when I get
back you and I could appear on the stage together. Rather a rag,
eh? The captain of my troop was pipped last week. Awful good egg.
I'm acting captain now. Paignton sends his love. Dear old thing, I
wish you were out here with me.

Yours ever,

TONY.

A week later the fifth Earl of Clarehaven was killed in action.