“Bad, sir, bad: it is a bad business altogether,” muttered the man of horseflesh, not perhaps wholly thinking of the boy. “It was not his fault, however,” continued Ralph. “No man could have kept his seat during such a devil's trick. Look you, let him have all he requires; everything. I will be responsible.” Mr Chifney had expected from this stormy client some terrible outbreak of wrath and disappointment; and lo, he was all benevolence and charity! His astonishment exhibited itself significantly enough in his face; but Ralph mistook the cause. “Why do you stare so, sir? I suppose I am good for a few pounds yet. The horse is mine; and I apprehend will be security enough; though I wish I could afford to shoot him--cursed beast! Where is Lord Stonart?” “A Great Personage has, I have heard, just sent for him, to offer his congratulations.” Ralph Derrick uttered a harsh and bitter laugh. “I suppose we couldn't see this interesting interview, eh?” “Certainly not, sir,” replied the trainer hurriedly, alarmed by Derrick's tone and air. “I hope you are not thinking of putting us all in the wrong by any act of violence?” “Well, no; I thought of conferring the honour of knighthood upon his Lordship with a horsewhip--that's all.” “Take him away,” whispered the trainer to Master Walter; “for Heaven's sake, take him home.” “Yes, home. Come home, Ralph,” repeated the young man, like one in a dream. “Ha, Lisgard, how goes it?” drawled Captain Wobegon, sauntering slowly up to where the three were standing. “I hope you recouped yourself for last night's misfortunes by _The King_ just now. Devilish near thing, though. The Frenchman did win by a head, but luckily it was the boy's, and not his own.” “I backed the wrong horse,” returned Master Walter gloomily. “And I owe you--how much is it?” “A little over fourteen hundred. If it's any convenience to you, I can wait a fortnight or so; I would say longer--but Lurline--she was inquiring after you, only yesterday, by the by; I felt quite jealous--has a soul above economy. And after the Derby, you know, folks send in their bills; especially jewellers. They know if they are not paid _then_, it's a bad look-out. What a lot that fellow Stonart must have netted! I'm sorry to see you so down in the mouth; you used to be such a lucky fellow.” “Used to be such a lucky fellow,” mused Master Walter, as he and his companion made their way to the outskirts of the heath, where a place had been appointed at which their Hansom was to wait for them. “Yes, so I was. I used to win in a small way, and yet people were always glad to see me. They won't be so pleasant, I reckon, when they find that I am a defaulter. I can't get at any money for a year, and who 'll wait a year without making a row? Even if they do, mine will be a fine coming of age. How _could_ I have been such a frightful fool?”