‘That’s just what I can’t feel,’ exclaimed the tailor, nervously slapping his knee.  ’Anyway, it would be a disgrace to a man to have a son a bookmaker—­a blackguard bookmaker.  That’s bad enough.  But when it comes to robbing and ruining the friends of your own family—­why, I never heard a more disgraceful thing in my life.  How I’m going to stand in my shop, and hold up my head before my customers, I—­do—­not—­know.  Of course, it’ll be the talk of the town; we know what the Ropers are when they get hold of anything.  It’ll drive me off my head, Mr. Lott, I’m sure it will.’

The timber-merchant stretched out a great hand, and laid it gently on the excited man’s shoulder.

’Don’t worry; that never did any good yet.  We’ve got to find out, first of all, how much of Roper’s story is true.  What did he tell you?’

’He said that Mr. Bowles had been going down the hill for a year or more—­that his business was neglected, that he spent his time at racecourses and in public-houses—­and that the cause of it all was my son. My son? What had my son to do with it?  Why, didn’t I know that Charles was a racing and betting man, and a notorious bookmaker?  You can imagine what sort of a feeling that gave me.  Roper couldn’t believe it was the first I had heard of it; he said lots of people in the town knew how Charles was living.  Did you know, Mr. Lott?’

‘Not I; I’m not much in the way of gossip.’

’Well, there’s what Roper said.  It was last night, and what with that and my cough, I didn’t get a wink of sleep after it.  About three o’clock this morning I made up my mind to go to London at once and see Mr. Bowles.  If it’s true that he’s been robbed and ruined by Charles, I’ve only one thing to do—­my duty’s plain enough.  I shall ask him how much money Charles has had of him, and, if my means are equal to it, I shall pay every penny back—­every penny.’

Mr. Lott’s countenance waxed so grim that one would have thought him about to break into wrath against the speaker.  But it was merely his way of disguising a pleasant emotion.

‘I don’t think most men would see it in that way,’ he remarked gruffly.

‘Whether they would or not,’ exclaimed Mr. Daffy, panting and wriggling, ’it’s as plain as plain could be that there’s no other course for a man who respects himself.  I couldn’t live a day with such a burden as that on my mind.  A bookmaker!  A blackguard bookmaker!  To think my son should come to that! You know very well, Mr. Lott, that there’s nothing I hate and despise more than horse-racing.  We’ve often talked about it, and the harm it does, and the sin and shame it is that such doings should be permitted—­haven’t we?’

‘Course we have, course we have,’ returned the other, with a nod.  But he was absorbed in his own reflections, and gave only half an ear to the gasping vehemences which Mr. Daffy poured forth for the next ten minutes.  There followed a short silence, then the strong man shook himself and opened his lips.