Theseus, they were nothing to me. They had sport,
and never learned to write a bookkeeping hand.”
And now, Mary being out of the way for a little while,
Fred, like any other strong dog who cannot slip his
collar, had pulled up the staple of his chain and
made a small escape, not of course meaning to go fast
or far. There could be no reason why he should
not play at billiards, but he was determined not to
bet. As to money just now, Fred had in his mind
the heroic project of saving almost all of the eighty
pounds that Mr. Garth offered him, and returning it,
which he could easily do by giving up all futile money-spending,
since he had a superfluous stock of clothes, and no
expense in his board. In that way he could, in
one year, go a good way towards repaying the ninety
pounds of which he had deprived Mrs. Garth, unhappily
at a time when she needed that sum more than she did
now. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that
on this evening, which was the fifth of his recent
visits to the billiard-room, Fred had, not in his
pocket, but in his mind, the ten pounds which he meant
to reserve for himself from his half-year’s
salary (having before him the pleasure of carrying
thirty to Mrs. Garth when Mary was likely to be come
home again)— he had those ten pounds in
his mind as a fund from which he might risk something,
if there were a chance of a good bet. Why?
Well, when sovereigns were flying about, why shouldn’t
he catch a few? He would never go far along that
road again; but a man likes to assure himself, and
men of pleasure generally, what he could do in the
way of mischief if he chose, and that if he abstains
from making himself ill, or beggaring himself, or
talking with the utmost looseness which the narrow
limits of human capacity will allow, it is not because
he is a spooney. Fred did not enter into formal
reasons, which are a very artificial, inexact way
of representing the tingling returns of old habit,
and the caprices of young blood: but there was
lurking in him a prophetic sense that evening, that
when he began to play he should also begin to bet—that
he should enjoy some punch-drinking, and in general
prepare himself for feeling “rather seedy”
in the morning. It is in such indefinable movements
that action often begins.
But the last thing likely to have entered Fred’s
expectation was that he should see his brother-in-law
Lydgate—of whom he had never quite dropped
the old opinion that he was a prig, and tremendously
conscious of his superiority—looking excited
and betting, just as he himself might have done.
Fred felt a shock greater than he could quite account
for by the vague knowledge that Lydgate was in debt,
and that his father had refused to help him; and his
own inclination to enter into the play was suddenly
checked. It was a strange reversal of attitudes:
Fred’s blond face and blue eyes, usually bright
and careless, ready to give attention to anything
that held out a promise of amusement, looking involuntarily
grave and almost embarrassed as if by the sight of
something unfitting; while Lydgate, who had habitually
an air of self-possessed strength, and a certain meditativeness
that seemed to lie behind his most observant attention,
was acting, watching, speaking with that excited narrow
consciousness which reminds one of an animal with fierce
eyes and retractile claws.