Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (116 page)

"Yes, sir. I made my
bit."

"And my nephew?"

Bassett was obstinately
silent, looking at Paul.

"I
made twelve hundred, didn't I, Bassett? I told uncle I was putting three
hundred on Daffodil."

"That's right,"
said Bassett, nodding.

"But where's the
money?" asked the uncle.

"I
keep it safe locked up, sir. Master Paul, he can have it any minute he likes
to ask for it."

"What, fifteen hundred
pounds?"

"And
twenty! And
toity,
that is, with the twenty he
made on the course."

"It's amazing!"
said the uncle.

"If Master Paul offers you to be
partners, sir, I would, if I were you: if you'll excuse me," said Bassett.
Oscar Cresswell thought about it. "I'll see the money," he said.

They
drove home again, and sure enough, Bassett came round to the garden-house with
fifteen hundred pounds in notes. The twenty pounds reserve was left with Joe
Glee, in the Turf Commission deposit.

"You see, it's all right, uncle, when
I'm sure.' Then we go strong, for all we're worth. Don't we, Bassett?"
"We do that, Master Paul."

"And when are you
sure?" said the uncle, laughing.

"Oh, well, sometimes
I'm absolutely sure, like about Daffodil," said the boy; "and
sometimes I have an idea; and sometimes I haven't even an idea, have I,
Bassett? Then we're careful, because we mostly go down."

"You
do, do you! And when you're sure, like about Daffodil, what makes you sure,
sonny?"

"Oh,
well, I don't know," said the boy uneasily. "I'm sure, you know,
uncle; that's all."

"It's
as if he had it from heaven, sir," Bassett reiterated.

"I
should say so!" said the uncle.

But
he became a partner. And when the Leger was coming on, Paul was
"sure" about Lively Spark, which was a quite inconsiderable horse.
The boy insisted on putting a thousand on the horse, Bassett went for five
hundred, and Oscar Cresswell two hundred. Lively Spark came in first, and the
betting had been ten to one against him. Paul had made ten thousand.

"You
see," he said, "I was absolutely sure of him."

Even
Oscar Cresswell had cleared two thousand.

"Look
here, son," he said, "this sort of thing makes me nervous."

"It
needn't, uncle! Perhaps I shan't be sure again for a long time."

"But
what are you going to do with your money?" asked the uncle.

"Of
course," said the boy, "I started it for mother. She said she had no
luck, because father is unlucky, so I thought if I was lucky,
it
might
stop whispering."

"What
might stop whispering?"

"Our
house! I hate our house for whispering."

"What
does it whisper?"

"Why—why"—the boy
fidgeted—"why, I don't know! But
it's
always short of money, you know, uncle."
"I know it, son, I know it."

"You
know people send mother writs, don't you, uncle?" "I'm afraid I
do," said the uncle.

"And
then the house whispers like people laughing at you behind

your back. It's awful, that is! I thought if I was lucky
-------------
"

"You
might stop it," added the uncle.

The boy watched him with big blue eyes, that
had an uncanny cold fire in them, and he said never a word. "Well
then!" said the uncle. "What are we doing?" "I shouldn't
like mother to know I was lucky," said the boy.

"Why not, son?"
"She'd stop me." "I don't think she would."

"Oh!"—and
the boy writhed in an odd way—"I don't want her
to
know,
uncle."

"All
right, son! We'll manage it without her knowing."

They
managed it very easily. Paul, at the other's suggestion, handed over five
thousand pounds to his uncle, who deposited it with the family lawyer, who was
then to inform Paul's mother that a relative had put five thousand pounds into
his hands, which sum was to be paid out a thousand pounds at a time, on the
mother's birthday, for the next five years.

"So
she'll have a birthday present of a thousand pounds for five successive
years," said Uncle Oscar. "I hope it won't make it all the harder for
her later."

Paul's
mother had her birthday in November. The house had been "whispering"
worse than ever lately, and even in spite of his luck, Paul could not bear up
against it. He was very anxious to see the effect of the birthday letter,
telling his mother about the thousand pounds.

When
there were no visitors, Paul now took his meals with his parents, as he was
beyond the nursery control. His mother went into town nearly every day. She had
discovered that she had an odd knack of sketching furs and dress materials, so
she worked secretly in the studio of a friend who was the chief
"artist" for the leading drapers. She drew the figures of ladies in
furs and ladies in silk and sequins for the newspaper advertisements. This
young woman artist earned several thousand pounds a year, but Paul's mother
only made several hundreds, and she was again dissatisfied. She so wanted to be
first in something, and she did not succeed, even in making sketches for
drapery advertisements.

She was down to breakfast on the morning of
her birthday. Paul watched her face as she read her letters. He knew the
lawyer's letter. As his mother read it, her face hardened and became more
expressionless. Then a cold, determined look came on her mouth. She hid the
letter under the pile of others, and said not a word about it.

"Didn't you have anything nice in the
post for your birthday, mother?" said Paul.

"Quite moderately nice," she said, her voice cold and absent.

She went away to town without saying more.

But in the afternoon Uncle Oscar appeared. He
said Paul's mother had had a long interview with the lawyer, asking if the
whole five thousand could not be advanced at once, as she was in debt.

"What do you think, uncle?" said the boy.

"I leave it to you, son."

"Oh, let her have it, then! We can get some more with the
other," said the boy.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush, laddie!" said Uncle Oscar.

"But I'm sure to know for the Grand
National; or the Lincolnshire; or else the Derby. I'm sure to know for one of
them," said Paul.

So Uncle Oscar signed the agreement, and
Paul's mother touched the whole five thousand. Then something very curious
happened. The voices in the house suddenly went mad, like a chorus' of frogs on
a spring evening. There were certain new furnishings, and Paul had a tutor. He
was really going to Eton, his father's school, in the following autumn. There
were flowers in the winter, and a blossoming of the luxury Paul's mother had
been used to. And yet the voices in the house, behind the sprays of mimosa and
almond-blossom, and from under the piles of iridescent cushions, simply trilled
and screamed in a sort of ecstasy: "There must be more money! Oh-h-h!
There must be more money! Oh, now, now-w! now-w-w—there must be more money!—more
than ever! More than ever!"

It
frightened Paul terribly. He studied away at his Latin and Greek with his
tutor. But his intense hours were spent with Bassett. The Grand National had
gone by: he had not "known," and had lost a hundred pounds. Summer was
at hand. He was in agony for the Lincoln. But even for the Lincoln he didn't
"know," and he lost fifty pounds. He became wild-eyed and strange, as
if something were going to explode in him.

"Let
it alone, son! Don't you bother about it!" urged Uncle Oscar. But it was
as if the boy couldn't really hear what his uncle was saying.

"I've
got to know for the Derby! I've got to know for the Derby!" the child
reiterated, his big blue eyes blazing with a sort of madness.

His mother noticed how
overwrought he was.

"You'd
better
go
to
the
seaside.
Wouldn't
you
like
to
go
now
to
the
seaside,
instead
of
waiting?
I
think
you'd
better,"
she
said,
looking down
at
him
anxiously,
her
heart
curiously
heavy
because
of
him.

But
the
child
lifted
his
uncanny
blue
eyes.

"I
couldn't
possibly
go
before
the
Derby,
mother!"
he
said.
"I couldn't
possibly!"

"Why
not?"
she
said,
her
voice
becoming
heavy
when
she
was
opposed.
"Why
not?
You
can
still
go
from
the
seaside
to
see
the Derby
with
your
Uncle
Oscar,
if
that's
what
you
wish.
No
need
for you
to
wait
here.
Besides,
I
think
you
care
too
much
about
these
races. It's
a
bad
sign.
My
family
has
been
a
gambling
family,
and
you
won't know
till
you
grow
up
how
much
damage
it
has
done.
But
it
has
done damage.
I
shall
have
to
send
Bassett
away,
and
ask
Uncle
Oscar
not to
talk
racing
to
you,
unless
you
promise
to
be
reasonable
about
it: go
away
to
the
seaside
and
forget
it.
You're
all
nerves!"