Esther Waters Part 60

"A gla.s.s of milk, if you've got such a thing."

"Gla.s.s of milk! What is it, old man--not feeling well?"

"Not very well. The fact is, I'm starving."

"Starving! ...Then come into the parlour and have something to eat. Why didn't you say so before?"

"I didn't like to."

He led the old chap into the parlour and gave him a chair. "Didn't like to tell me that you was as hard up as all that? What do you mean? You didn't use to mind coming round for half a quid."

"That was to back a horse; but I didn't like coming to ask for food--excuse me, I'm too weak to speak much."

When old John had eaten, William asked how it was that things had gone so badly with him.

"I've had terrible bad luck lately, can't get on a winner nohow. I have backed 'orses that 'as been tried to win with two stone more on their backs than they had to carry, but just because I was on them they didn't win. I don't know how many half-crowns I've had on first favourites. Then I tried the second favourites, but they gave way to outsiders or the first favourites when I took to backing them. Stack's tips and Ketley's omens was all the same as far as I was concerned. It's a poor business when you're out of luck."

"It is giving way to fancy that does for the backers. The bookmaker's advantage is that he bets on principle and not on fancy."

Old John told how unlucky he had been in business. He had been dismissed from his employment in the restaurant, not from any fault of his own, he had done his work well. "But they don't like old waiters; there's always a lot of young Germans about, and customers said I smelt bad. I suppose it was my clothes and want of convenience at home for keeping one's self tidy. We've been so hard up to pay the three and sixpence rent which we've owed, that the black coat and waistkit had to go to the p.a.w.nshop, so even if I did meet with a job in the Exhibition places, where they ain't so particular about yer age, I should not be able to take it. It's terrible to think that I should have to come to this and after having worked round the table this forty years, fifty pounds a year and all found, and accustomed always to a big footman and page-boy under me. But there's plenty more like me. It's a poor game. You're well out of it. I suppose the end of it will be the work'us. I'm pretty well wore out, and--"

The old man's voice died away. He made no allusion to his wife. His dislike to speak of her was part and parcel of his dislike to speak of his private affairs. The conversation then turned on Sarah; the severity of the sentence was alluded to, and William spoke of how the judge's remarks would put the police on the watch, and how difficult it would be to continue his betting business without being found out.

"There's no doubt that it is most unfortunate," said old John.

"The only thing for you to do is to be very particular about yer introductions, and to refuse to bet with all who haven't been properly introduced."

"Or to give up betting altogether," said Esther.

"Give up betting altogether!" William answered, his face flushed, and he gradually worked himself into a pa.s.sion. "I give you a good 'ome, don't I?

You want for nothing, do yer? Well, that being so, I think you might keep your nose out of your husband's business. There's plenty of prayer-meetings where you can go preaching if you like."

William would have said a good deal more, but his anger brought on a fit of coughing. Esther looked at him contemptuously, and without answering she walked into the bar.

"That's a bad cough of yours," said old John.

"Yes," said William, and he drank a little water to pa.s.s it off. "I must see the doctor about it. It makes one that irritable. The missis is in a pretty temper, ain't she?"

Old John did not reply; it was not his habit to notice domestic differences of opinion, especially those in which women had a share--queer cattle that he knew nothing about. The men talked for a long time regarding the danger the judge's remarks had brought the house into; and they considered all the circ.u.mstances of the case. Allusion was made to the injustice of the law, which allowed the rich and forbade the poor to bet; anecdotes were related, but nothing they said threw new light on the matter in hand, and when Old John rose to go William summed up the situation in these few words--

"Bet I must, if I'm to get my living. The only thing I can do is to be careful not to bet with strangers."

"I don't see how they can do nothing to you if yer makes that yer principle and sticks to it," said old John, and he put on the huge-rimmed, greasy hat, three sizes too large for him, looking in his square-cut tattered frock-coat as queer a specimen of humanity as you would be likely to meet with in a day's walk. "If you makes that yer principle and sticks to it," thought William.

But practice and principle are never reduced to perfect agreement. One is always marauding the other's territory; nevertheless for several months principle distinctly held the upper hand; William refused over and over again to make bets with comparative strangers, but the day came when his principle relaxed, and he took the money of a man whom he thought was all right. It was done on the impulse of the moment, but the two half-crowns wrapped up in the paper, with the name of the horse written on the paper, had hardly gone into the drawer than he felt that he had done wrong. He couldn't tell why, but the feeling came across him that he had done wrong in taking the man's money--a tall, clean-shaven man dressed in broadcloth.

It was too late to draw back. The man had finished his beer and had left the bar, which in itself was suspicious.

Three days afterwards, between twelve and one, just the busiest time, when the bar was full of people, there came a cry of "Police!" An effort was made to hide the betting plant; a rush was made for the doors. It was all too late; the sergeant and a constable ordered that no one was to leave the house; other police were outside. The names and addresses of all present were taken down; search was made, and the packets of money and the betting books were discovered. Then they all had to go to Marlborough Street.

XLI

Next day the following account was given in most of the daily papers:--"Raid on a betting man in the West End. William Latch, 35, landlord of the 'King's Head,' Dean Street, Soho, was charged that he, being a licensed person, did keep and use his public-house for the purpose of betting with persons resorting thereto. Thomas William, 35, billiard marker, Gaulden Street, Battersea; Arthur Henry Parsons, 25, waiter, Northumberland Street, Marylebone; Joseph Stack, 52, gentleman; Harold Journeyman, 45, gentleman, High Street, Norwood; Philip Hutchinson, grocer, Bisey Road, Fulham; William Tann, piano-tuner, Standard Street, Soho; Charles Ketley, b.u.t.terman, Green Street, Soho; John Randal, Frith Street, Soho; Charles Muller, 44, tailor, Marylebone Lane; Arthur Bartram, stationer, East Street Buildings; William Burton, harness maker, Blue Lion Street, Bond Street, were charged with using the 'King's Head' for the purpose of betting. Evidence was given by the police regarding the room upstairs, where a good deal of drinking went on after hours. There had been cases of disorder, and the magistrate unfortunately remembered that a servant-girl, who had pledged her master's plate to obtain money to back a horse, had been arrested in the 'King's Head.' Taking these facts into consideration, it seemed to him that he could not do less than inflict a fine of 100. The men who were found in Latch's house he ordered to be bound over."

Who had first given information? That was the question. Old John sat smoking in his corner. Journeyman leaned against the yellow-painted part.i.tion, his legs thrust out. Stack stood square, his dark, crimson-tinted skin contrasting with sallow-faced little Ketley.

"Don't the omens throw no light on this 'ere matter?" said Journeyman.

Ketley started from his reverie.

"Ah," said William, "if I only knew who the b---- was."

"Ain't you got no idea of any sort?" said Stack.

"There was a Salvation chap who came in some months ago and told my wife that the betting was corrupting the neighbourhood. That it would have to be put a stop to. It may 'ave been 'e."

"You don't ask no one to bet with you. They does as they like."

"Does as they like! No one does that nowadays. There's a temperance party, a purity party, and a hanti-gambling party, and what they is working for is just to stop folk from doing as they like."

"That's it," said Journeyman.

Stack raised his gla.s.s to his lips and said, "Here's luck."

"There's not much of that about," said William. "We seem to be losing all round. I'd like to know where the money goes. I think it is the 'ouse; it's gone unlucky, and I'm thinking of clearing out."

"We may live in a 'ouse a long while before we find what its luck really is," said Ketley. "I've been in my old 'ouse these twenty years, and it ain't nothing like what I thought it."

"You are that superst.i.tious," said Journeyman. "If there was anything the matter with the 'ouse you'd've know'd it before now."

"Ain't you doing the trade you was?" said Stack.

"No, my b.u.t.ter and egg trade have fallen dreadful lately."

The conversation paused. It was Stack who broke the silence.

"Do you intend to do no more betting 'ere?" he asked.

"What, after being fined 100? You 'eard the way he went on about Sarah, and all on account of her being took here. I think he might have left Sarah out."

"It warn't for betting she took the plate," said Journeyman; "it was 'cause her chap said if she did he'd marry her."

"I wonder you ever left the course," said Stack.

"It was on account of my 'ealth. I caught a dreadful cold at Kempton, standing about in the mud. I've never quite got over that cold."