“There was Chris McCarthy growlin’ at them for not keepin’ their tongues still, and there was Joe Berks swearin’ that ’e would knock ’is face in if ’e dared give ’im any of ’is lip.  So Chris ’e sort of argued with them, for ’e was frightened of Berks, and ’e put it to them whether they would be fit for the job in the mornin’, and whether the gov’nor would pay the money if ’e found they ’ad been drinkin’ and were not to be trusted.  This struck them sober, all three, an’ Fighting Yussef asked what time they were to start.  Chris said that as long as they were at Crawley before the George shut up they could work it.  ‘It’s poor pay for a chance of a rope,’ said Red Ike.  ‘Rope be damned!’ cried Chris, takin’ a little loaded stick out of his side pocket.  ’If three of you ’old him down and I break his arm-bone with this, we’ve earned our money, and we don’t risk more’n six months’ jug.’ ‘’E’ll fight,’ said Berks.  ’Well, it’s the only fight ‘e’ll get,’ answered Chris, and that was all I ‘eard of it.  This mornin’ out I went, and I found as I told you afore that the money is goin’ on to Wilson by the ton, and that no odds are too long for the layers.  So it stands, gov’nor, and you know what the meanin’ of it may be better than Bill Warr can tell you.”

“Very good, Warr,” said my uncle, rising.  “I am very much obliged to you for telling me this, and I will see that you are not a loser by it.  I put it down as the gossip of drunken ruffians, but none the less you have served me vastly by calling my attention to it.  I suppose I shall see you at the Downs to-morrow?”

“Mr. Jackson ‘as asked me to be one o’ the beaters-out, sir.”

“Very good.  I hope that we shall have a fair and good fight.  Good day to you, and thank you.”

My uncle had preserved his jaunty demeanour as long as Warr was in the room, but the door had hardly closed upon him before he turned to me with a face which was more agitated than I had ever seen it.

“We must be off for Crawley at once, nephew,” said he, ringing the bell.  “There’s not a moment to be lost.  Lorimer, order the bays to be harnessed in the curricle.  Put the toilet things in, and tell William to have it round at the door as soon as possible.”

“I’ll see to it, sir,” said I, and away I ran to the mews in Little Ryder Street, where my uncle stabled his horses.  The groom was away, and I had to send a lad in search of him, while with the help of the livery-man I dragged the curricle from the coach-house and brought the two mares out of their stalls.  It was half an hour, or possibly three-quarters, before everything had been found, and Lorimer was already waiting in Jermyn Street with the inevitable baskets, whilst my uncle stood in the open door of his house, clad in his long fawn-coloured driving-coat, with no sign upon his calm pale face of the tumult of impatience which must, I was sure, be raging within.

“We shall leave you, Lorimer,” said he.  “We might find it hard to get a bed for you.  Keep at her head, William!  Jump in, nephew.  Halloa, Warr, what is the matter now?”