“Capital idea!” Mr. Grinder shook with amusement. “Run away with her! Carry her off, and keep her from the hats and feathers, Sir Jasper, and I’ll see that you get Little Pitfold at long last. We’ll foreclose for the rest of the mortgage. Zounds, we will! Drat that girl! She’s been paying off at an uncommon quick rate. Took my breath away, she did. We had to give old Pounce a couple of years for the look of the thing, you remember--never dreaming--But there! Time will be up next Lady Day, and”--he broke into dry chuckling--“if you carry off the girl you’ll win your wager, and get your land into the bargain. Kill two birds with one stone.” Jocelyn Bellairs lay back in his seat with arms folded, and a scornful smile on his countenance. He did not care what conditions were imposed, and the higher the stake the better for him. He was so sure of the result. Sir James Devlin had drawn out his tablets. “The wager’s plain enough now,” quoth he. “Sir Jasper Standish wagers Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs that the girl, Pamela Pounce, will give him a dish of tea this day week, at an address hereafter to be determined, the said Pamela Pounce being then established under the protection of the said Jasper Standish. What are the stakes?” “Oh, make it worth while!” eagerly cried Bellairs. Devlin gave him a keen side-glance. “’Tis scarce usual to make the stakes higher than you can meet, Mr. Bellairs.” The young man flushed darkly. But before he could reply: “Odds my life,” exclaimed Sir Jasper. “Let’s make it worth while! What say you to a thousand guineas?” “Done!” cried Jocelyn eagerly. Then he added: “I’d like to make a stipulation. If Sir James loses, let him remit the rest of that mortgage first, whatever it is. I’ll be content with the residue.” “’Pon my word, sir, that’s a strange proposal,” said Sir Jasper, staring with an air which gave him an odd resemblance to an incensed bull. “You can cry off the whole bet, if you’re afraid of it,” taunted his guest. “Foh!” said Mr. Grinder. “’Tis but a matter of a hundred and eighty-nine pounds, when all is said and done. Never niggle at that, Sir Jasper. Go in, and win! ’Pon me soul!” cried the old sinner, rubbing his hands, “I’d sleep better in my grave if I thought the Standish estate had got Pitfold at last.” “The stakes to be a thousand guineas,” murmured Devlin as he wrote, “out of which Sir Jasper remits the rest of Farmer Pounce’s mortgage, one hundred and eighty-nine pounds and hands the residue eight hundred and eleven, plus the shillings for the guineas, to Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs. Any backers? Fifty guineas on Jasper. Who’ll take me?” Squire Upshott was too far gone, and Lawyer Grinder shook his head, so Sir James had to content himself with jotting down: “No backers.”