" The man fell
unhurt, unbruised, so gently was he dropped on his back among the muddy,
chilly water, and the overhanging brambles; and, as he rose from the
ducking, a shudder of ferocious and filthy oaths poured from his lips,
increased tenfold by the uproarious laughter of the crowd, who knew him
as "a welsher," and thought him only too well served.
Policemen rushed in at all points, rural and metropolitan, breathless,
austere, and, of course, too late. Bertie turned to them, with a slight
wave of his hand, to sign them away.
"Don't trouble yourselves! It's nothing you could interfere in; take
care that person doesn't come into the betting ring again, that's all."
The Seraph, Lord Constantia, Wentworth, and may others of his set,
catching sight of the turmoil and of "Beauty," with the great square-set
figure of Ben Davis pressed before him through the mob, forced their way
up as quickly as they could; but before they reached the spot Cecil was
sauntering back to meet them, cool and listless, and a little bored with
so much exertion; his cheroot in his mouth, and his ear serenely deaf to
the clamor about the ditch.
He looked apologetically at the Seraph and the others; he felt some
apology was required for having so far wandered from all the canons of
his Order as to have approached "a row," and run the risk of a scene.
"Turf must be cleared of these scamps, you see," he said, with a half
sigh. "Law can't do anything.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57