“The offer still stands, Laurie.”

“Yes, but I don’t want it. It wouldn’t suit me at all. I haven’t any taste for the law, either. I didn’t think of it at the time, but if you had suggested the Church to me, when I was up at Oxford, there would have been some sense in it. I daresay I shouldn’t have liked it above half, but I wonder you shouldn’t have thought of it, if you’re so eager to thrust me into some profession or other. After all, I know you’ve several good livings in your gift! However, it’s too late now.”

“That’s just as well, for I can think of few men less suited to the Church.”

“No, very likely I should have found it a dead bore. Not but what a snug parsonage—But it’s of no consequence! I fancy I’ve hit on the very thing, Waldo! What’s more, if the thing comes off right there’s a fortune in it!”

Concealing his misgivings, Sir Waldo invited him to continue.

“Well, I hadn’t meant to broach it to you so soon,” said Laurence, rather naively. “But since you’ve asked me to—and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t care for the scheme: in fact, I’m persuaded you’ll think it’s the very thing—”

“You are filling me with foreboding, Laurie. Do put me out of suspense!”

“Of course, if you mean to set your face against it from the start I might as well keep my tongue!” said Laurence peevishly.

“We haven’t reached the start yet. Cut line!” commanded his cousin.

Laurence looked offended for a moment, but he managed to swallow his spleen. “Yes—Well—well, are you acquainted with Kearney, Waldo?”

“No.”

“Desmond Kearney!” Sir Waldo shook his head. “Oh! I daresay he may not have come in your way, though I should have thought you must have met him. He’s the devil of a man to hounds—a clipping rider! But you high sticklers are so top-lofty—” He broke off, and said hastily: “Not that it signifies! The thing is, Kearney is a friend of mine. Not a feather to fly with, but a first-rate man, and a capital judge of horseflesh! We mean to become partners.”

“Partners in what?” asked Sir Waldo blankly.

“Hunters! Selling ’em, I mean.”

“O my God!”

“I suppose I might have guessed you would—No, do but listen, Waldo!” begged Laurence, suddenly altering his tone. “Only think of the blunt some of the Melton men drop on their hunters! Well, you’re one yourself, so you should know! They say Lord Alvanley gave seven hundred guineas for one of the nags he bought last year, and I could name you a score of men who think nothing of shelling out five or six hundred for horses that were bought originally for no more than eighty or a hundred guineas! Why, if you was to put your own stud under the hammer—just your hunters and your hacks: not your driving-cattle, of course—they wouldn’t fetch a penny under five thousand! I daresay you’re thinking the scheme might not fadge, but—”

“Might not fadge!” interrupted Sir Waldo. “You’d find yourselves at point non-plus within a twelvemonth!”

“No, that we shouldn’t! We have it all planned, and I’d be willing to lay you any odds we shall make an excellent hit. Of course, at first we shall be obliged to spend a good deal of blunt—no need to tell you that!—but—”

“No need at all!”

“Well, there’s no doing anything unless one has some capital! The thing is—”

“Thank you, I know what the thing is!” said Sir Waldo acidly. “For God’s sake, will you stop trying to tip me a rise? I never in my life listened to such an addle-brained scheme! Do you think me such a flat that I would provide the capital for such a crazy venture? Go into partnership with a man who hasn’t a feather to fly with? Oh, no! Laurie! Coming it too strong!”

“If you would but listen—! Kearney ain’t any plumper in the pocket than I am, but he’s just come into some property! It was that circumstance which put the notion into his head! He’s inherited a place in Ireland, from his uncle—Galway, I think. Sounds to me much like this place: gone to rack, and the house pretty well tumbling down. Seemed to him more of a liability than a honey-fall, for there’s no getting rid of it as it stands.”

“It seems like that to me too.”

“Well, that’s where you’re out! We mean to put it to dashed good use! Kearney’s been to look it over, and he says there’s plenty of ground attached, and acres of stabling, which only needs repairing to furnish us with precisely what we need. Now, Waldo, you must know that Ireland’s the place for picking up first-rate horses for no more than eighty pounds apiece! No cart-horse blood there! No black drop! A year’s schooling, and you sell ’em over here for a couple of hundred at the least!”

“If you think that I’m going to set you up as a horse chanter—”

“No such thing!” exclaimed Laurence indignantly. “They won’t be unsound horses!”

“They will be if you have anything to do with choosing them.”

Laurence struggled with himself, and again managed to suppress his anger. “As a matter of fact, Kearney will attend to that side of the business: he knows the country, and which are the best fairs—and I shouldn’t wonder at it if he’s as good a judge of a horse as you are! My part will be to sell ’em over here.”

“Laurie, are you seriously proposing to set up as a dealer?”

“No, of course not! I mean, I’m not going to have a sale-ring, or anything of that kind! I’ve got a much better notion: I’m going to sell ’em on the hunting-field!”

“What?”said Sir Waldo faintly.

“Lord, you know what I mean! You ride a good-looking hunter of the right stamp with one of the Hunts—the Quorn, for instance—and what happens?”

“You end up in the Whissendine.”

“Oh, go to the devil! That’s not what I mean! Someone takes a fancy to your horse—asks you if you’d care to sell him, and before you know where you are—”

“Not if he’s seen you riding the horse!” interpolated Sir Waldo brutally.

Laurence flushed vividly. “Thank you! Upon my word, coz, of all the damnably unjust things to say—! I collect I’m a slow-top—a skirter—a—”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that!” said Sir Waldo, relenting slightly. “You’ve plenty of pluck, but you sloven your fences, and you don’t get the best out of your horses. Also—well, no matter! I’m sorry, but I’ll have no hand in this project.”

“Waldo, I’m not asking you to give it to me!” Laurence urged, rather desperately. “Only to lend it—and no more than five thousand! I swear I’d pay it back!”

“I doubt it! Oh, I don’t doubt you think you would! But I think that so far from your paying me back I should be obliged to tow you out of the River Tick to the tune of a few more thousands. I won’t do it.”

There was a long silence. Laurence got up jerkily, and went over to stare out of the window. Presently he said: “I know you said—when you paid that debt for me last month—that it was the last time, but I never thought you’d refuse to help me when—when I’m trying to do what you’ve been urging me to for ever!”

Sir Waldo could not help smiling at this. “My dear Laurie, I really don’t think I can be said to have urged you to take to horse-coping!”

“You want me to pursue some occupation. And now, when I’m determined not to be idle any longer, or to hang on your sleeve—you make it impossible!”

“Find a respectable occupation, and try me again! You think me a shocking nip-squeeze, but what you are asking me to do is to help you to break your back.”

Laurence turned, forcing a smile to his drooping mouth. “No, I don’t. You’ve been devilish generous to me: I know that! Only—Oh, well! I suppose there’s no more to be said. I’d best go back to London tomorrow. I know you don’t want me here.”

“Gammon! Do you wish to stay?”

“Well, I did rather think;—I mean, everyone is going out of town now, and you know what Brighton costs in July! You told me I must stop wasting the ready—”

“So it clearly behoves me to house you! Stop playing off your tricks, you incorrigible dryboots! I haven’t the smallest objection to your remaining here—but I don’t think you’ll like it above half! The builders are at work, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t care a straw for that!” Laurence assured him. “You seem to be pulling the place to bits—all for your ramshackle brats, I collect!”

“That’s it,” replied Sir Waldo cheerfully. “I must go and tell Wedmore we won’t wait dinner for Julian: he’s in Leeds, and is likely to be detained. That, by the way, is one of the disadvantages of the house: the only unbroken bell-wire is the one leading from our late lamented cousin’s bedroom! There are some other drawbacks, too: your man will tell you all about them! I only hope he won’t cut his stick. I live in constant dread of waking one morning to find that Munslow has abandoned me.”

Laurence looked rather appalled, but said: “Oh, Blyth wouldn’t serve me such a trick! As for your Munslow—I wish I may see him abandoning you! When do you dine? Should I change my rig?”

“Not on my account. We dine at the unfashionable hour of six.”

“Oh, yes! country hours!” said Laurence, refusing to be daunted. “I’m glad of it, for, to own the truth, I’m feeling a trifle fagged. Been thinking lately that it was time I went on a repairing lease!”

He maintained this affability until nine o’clock, when, after trying in vain to smother a succession of yawns, he took himself off to bed. Sir Waldo was not in the least deceived. As little as he believed that Laurence had been visiting friends in York did he believe that Laurence either wanted to remain at Broom Hall or was resigned to the frustration of his preposterous scheme. He remembered, with a rueful smile, several previous occasions when, having refused some demand of Laurie’s, he had allowed himself to be won over by just such tactics as Laurie was employing now. Laurie remembered them too; probably he had come prepared to meet with an initial rebuff; certainly he had not accepted it as final: that was betrayed by his meekness. When Laurie knew that he could not bring his cousin round his thumb he very rapidly fell into a rage, jealousy and self-pity overcoming his reason, and leading him to rant and complain until he really did believe in his illusionary grievances.