“But sometimes they hear good about other matters. Two chaps were talking on the tramcar last week, and I was sitting just at the back. Jockeys from the look of ’em. They didn’t know I was taking in all they were saying, and they talked quite freely to each other, just as I might to you in this room. Vinolia was what they were chatting about.” “Old Brown Windsor is as good as anything.” “Vinolia, it appears,” he continued, “is being kept very dark, but the owner’s made an arrangement, so far as I could gather, for it to win the race it’s running in next week, and no one except those that are in the stable— Why, bless my soul, if this isn’t the rummiest coincidence I ever come across in all my born days. I’m talking to you about Vinolia, and here my eye lights on the very name. Thirty-three to one. Let’s see what it says about it. ‘Vinolia appears to stand no earthly chance, and we are at a loss to comprehend why the owner should take the trouble to run him.’” “What does thirty-three to one mean, William?” “Thirty-three to one means,” he explained, “that if you handed me your money and I placed it for you, and Vinolia came in first, you’d get thirty-three times the amount, together with your original money, back. But the risk is a jolly sight too great, and I recommend you, speaking as a friend, to have nothing whatever to do with it. Besides, with me, it’s a matter of principle. I object to gambling _in toto_. I look on gambling as one of the curses of the country. People win money at it, and it thor’ly demoralises ’em. They bring off something successful that means they’ve cleared as much as they could earn by honest labour in six or seven weeks, perhaps more; consequence is that they get altogether unhinged. Upsets ’em. Knocks ’em off the main line. So my advice to you, old girl, is to put what I’ve been saying clean out of your head, and not trouble any further about it. After all, supposing you had thirty-three times as much as you’ve got at present, it doesn’t by any means follow you’d be thirty-three times as happy. That’s the way you’ve got to look at it!” “But supposing—” “My dear,” he said, putting down the newspaper, “we’ve been getting on particular well together this last forty-eight hours or so; don’t let us begin arguing and spoil it. I’ve been into the law of the matter, and I find I’ve got no right to touch your money in any way whatsoever, but it’s my positive duty to see that you don’t do anything silly and stupid with it.” “It’s mine to do what I like with.” “Let’s change the subject,” urged Baynes, “and have a nice talk over old times. When do you reckon it was you first felt drawn towards me?”