contest between teacher and student, won the first two hands.
Hargate won the next.
“I’ve got the hang of it all right now,” he said, complacently.
“It’s a simple sort of game. Make it more exciting, don’t you think,
if we played for something?”
“All right,” said Lord Dreever slowly, “if you like.”
He would not have suggested it himself, but, after all, dash it, if
the man really asked for it–It was not his fault if the winning of
a hand should have given the fellow the impression that he knew all
there was to be known about picquet. Of course, picquet was a game
where skill was practically bound to win. But–after all, Hargate
probably had plenty of money. He could afford it.
“All right,” said his lordship again. “How much?”
“Something fairly moderate? Ten bob a hundred?”
There is no doubt that his lordship ought at this suggestion to have
corrected the novice’s notion that ten shillings a hundred was
fairly moderate. He knew that it was possible for a poor player to
lose four hundred points in a twenty minutes’ game, and usual for
him to lose two hundred. But he let the thing go.
“Very well,” he said.
Twenty minutes later, Hargate was looking some-what ruefully at the
score-sheet. “I owe you eighteen shillings,” he said. “Shall I pay
you now, or shall we settle up in a lump after we’ve finished?”
“What about stopping now?” said Lord Dreever. “It’s quite fine out.”
“No, let’s go on. I’ve nothing to do till dinner, and I don’t
suppose you have.”
His lordship’s conscience made one last effort.
“You’d much better stop, you know, Hargate, really,” he said. “You
can lose a frightful lot at this game.”
“My dear Dreever,” said Hargate stiffly, “I can look after myself,
thanks. Of course, if you think you are risking too much, by all
means–”
“Oh, if you don’t mind,” said his lordship, outraged, “I’m only too
frightfully pleased. Only, remember I warned you.”
“I’ll bear it in mind. By the way, before we start, care to make it
a sovereign a hundred?”
Lord Dreever could not afford to play picquet for a soverign a
hundred, or, indeed, to play picquet for money at all; but, after
his adversary’s innuendo, it was impossible for a young gentleman of
spirit to admit the humiliating fact. He nodded.
“About time, I fancy,” said Hargate, looking at his watch an hour
later, “that we were going in to dress for dinner.”
His lordship, made no reply. He was wrapped in thought.
“Let’s see, that’s twenty pounds you owe me, isn’t it?” continued
Hargate. “Shocking bad luck you had!”
They went out into the rose-garden.
“Jolly everything smells after the rain,” said Hargate, who seemed
to have struck a conversational patch. “Freshened everything up.”
His lordship did not appear to have noticed it. He seemed to be
thinking of something else. His air was pensive and abstracted.
“There’s just time,” said Hargate, looking at his watch again, “for
a short stroll. I want to have a talk with you.”
“Oh!” said Lord Dreever.
His air did not belie his feelings. He looked pensive, and was
pensive. It was deuced awkward, this twenty pounds business.
Hargate was watching him covertly. It was his business to know other
people’s business, and he knew that Lord Dreever was impecunious,
and depended for supplies entirely on a prehensile uncle. For the
success of the proposal he was about to make, he depended on this
fact.
“Who’s this man Pitt?” asked Hargate.
“Oh, pal of mine,” said his lordship. “Why?”
“I can’t stand the fellow.”
“I think he’s a good chap,” said his lordship. “In fact,”
remembering Jimmy’s Good Samaritanism, “I know he is. Why don’t you
like him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t.”
“Oh?” said his lordship, indifferently. He was in no mood to listen
to the likes and dislikes of other men.
“Look here, Dreever,” said Hargate, “I want you to do something for
me. I want you to get Pitt out of the place.”
Lord Dreever eyed his guest curiously.
“Eh?” he said.
Hargate repeated his remark.
“You seem to have mapped out quite a program for me,” said Lord