"Why, what would you have? It's a game where the best player wins, that's all," broke in Beecher.

"If you mean it is always a contest where the best horse carries away the prize, I enter my denial to the assertion. If it were so, the legs would have no existence, and all that classic vocabulary of 'nobbling,'

'squaring,' and so on, have no dictionary."

"It's all the same the whole world over," broke in Beecher. "The wide-awake ones will have the best seat on the coach."

Conway made no reply; but the increased energy with which he puffed his cigar bespoke the impatience he was suffering under.

"What became of the daughter?" asked Beecher, abruptly; and then, not awaiting the answer, went on: "A deuced good-looking girl, if properly togged out, but she had n't the slightest notion of dressing herself."

"Their narrow fortune may have had something to say to that," said Conway, gravely.

"Where there's a will, there's a way,--that 's my idea. I was never so hard up in life but I could make my tailor torn me out like a gentleman.

I take it," added he, returning to the former theme, "she was a proud one. Old Kellett was awfully afraid of doing many a thing from the dread of her knowing it. He told me so himself."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Conway, with evident pleasure in the tone.

"I could have helped him fifty ways. I knew fellows who would have 'done' his bills,--small sums, of course,--and have shoved him along pleasantly enough, but _she_ would n't have it at any price."

"I was not aware of that," remarked Conway, inviting, by his manner, further revelations.

Beecher, however, mistaking the source of the interest he had thus excited, and believing that his own craft and shrewdness were the qualities that awakened respect, went on to show how conversant he was with all financial operations amongst Jews and money-lenders, proudly declaring that there was not a "man on town" knew the cent per centers as he did.

"I've had my little dealings with them," said he, with some vanity in the manner. "I 've had my paper done when there was n't a fellow on the 'turf' could raise a guinea. You see," added he, lowering his voice to a whisper that implied secrecy, "I could do them a service no money could repay. I was up to all that went on in life and at the clubs. When Etheridge got it so heavy at the 'Rag,' I warned Fordyce not to advance him beyond a hundred or two. I was the only gentleman knew Brookdale's horse could win 'the Ripsley.' The legs, of course, knew it well before the race came off. Jemmy could have had ten thousand down for his 'book.' Ah! if you and I had only known each other six years ago, what a stroke of work we might have done together! Even now," said he, with increased warmth of voice, "there's a deuced deal to be done abroad.

Brussels and Florence are far from worked out; not among the foreigners, of course, but our own fellows,--the young Oxford and Cambridge 'saps,'--the green ones waiting for their gazette in the Guards! Where are you bound for?--what are you doing?" asked he, as if a sudden thought had crossed his mind.

"I am endeavoring to get back to the Crimea," said Conway, smiling at the prospect which the other had with such frankness opened to him.

"The Crimea!" exclaimed Beecher, "why, that is downright madness; they 're fighting away there just as fresh as ever. The very last paper I saw is filled with an account of a Russian sortie against our lines, and a lot of our fellows killed and wounded."

"Of course there are hard knocks--"

"It's all very well to talk of it that way, but I think you might have been satisfied with what you saw, I 'd just as soon take a cab down to Guy's, or the Middlesex Hospital, and ask one of the house-surgeons to cut me up at his own discretion, as go amongst those Russian savages. I tell you it don't pay,--not a bit of it!"

"I suppose, as to the paying part, you 're quite right; but, remember, there are different modes of estimating the same thing. Now, I like soldiering--"

"No accounting for tastes," broke in Beecher. "I knew a fellow who was so fond of the Queen's Bench Prison he would n't let his friends clear him out; but, seriously speaking, the Crimea 's a bad book."

"I should be a very happy fellow to-night if I knew how I could get back there. I 've been trying in various ways for employment in any branch of the service. I 'd rather be a driver in the Wagon Train than whip the neatest four-in-hand over Epsom Downs."

"There 's only one name for that," said Beecher; "at least, out of Hanwell."

"I 'd be content to be thought mad on such terms," said Conway, good-humoredly, "and not even quarrel with those who said so!"

"I 've got a better scheme than the Crimea in my head," said Beecher, in a low, cautious voice, like one afraid of being overheard. "I've half a mind to tell you, though there 's one on board here would come down pretty heavily on me for peaching."

"Don't draw any indignation on yourself on _my_ account," said Conway, smiling. "I'm quite unworthy of the confidence, and utterly unable to profit by it."

"I 'm not so sure of that," responded Beecher. "A fellow who has got it so hot as you have, has always his eyes open ever after. Come a little to this side," whispered he, cautiously. "Did you remark my going forward two or three times when I came on board?"

"Yes, I perceived that you did so."

"You never guessed why?"

"No; really I paid no particular attention to it."

"I 'll tell you, then," whispered he, still lower, "it was to look after a horse I 've got there. 'Mumps,' that ran such a capital second for the Yarmouth, and ran a dead heat afterwards with Stanley's 'Cross-Bones,'

he's there!" and his voice trembled between pride and agitation.

"Indeed!" exclaimed Conway, amused at the eagerness of his manner.

"There he is, disguised as a prize bull for the King of Belgium. Nobody suspects him,--nobody could suspect him, he 's so well got up, horns and all. Got him on board in the dark in a large roomy box, clap posters to it on the other side, and 'tool' him along to Brussels. That's what I call business! Now, if you wait a week or two, you can lay on him as deep as you like. We'll let the Belgians 'in,' before we 've done with them. We run him under the name of 'Klepper;' don't forget it,--Klepper!"

"I've already told you I 'm unworthy of such a confidence; you only risk yourself when you impart a secret to indiscretion like mine."

"You'd not blow us?" cried Annesley, in terror.

"The best security against my doing so accidentally is that I may be hundreds of miles away before your races come off."

For a minute or two Beecher's misery was extreme. He saw how his rashness had carried him away to a foolish act of good-nature, and had not even reaped thanks for his generosity. What would he not have given to recall his words?--what would he not have done to obliterate their impression? At last a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he said,--

"There are two of us in 'the lay,' and my 'pal' is the readiest pistol in Europe."

"I 'll not provoke any display of his skill, depend on 't," said Conway, controlling, as well as he could, the inclination to laugh out.

"He'd tumble you over like winking if you sold him. He 'd make it as short work with myself if he suspected me."

"I'd rather have a quieter sort of colleague," said Conway, dryly.

"Oh! but he's a rare one to 'work the oracle.' Solomon was a wise man--"

"What infernal balderdash are you at with Solomon and Samson, there?"

shouted out Grog Davis, who had just been looking after the horse-box in the bow. "Come down below, and have a glass of brandy-and-water."

"I 'll stay where I am," said Beecher, sulkily, and walked away in dudgeon from the spot.

"I think I recognize your friend's voice," said Conway, when Beecher next joined him. "If I 'm right, it's a fellow I 've an old grudge against."

"Don't have it out, then,--that 's all," broke in Beecher, hastily.

"I 'd just as soon go into a cage and dispute a bone with one of Van Amburgh's tigers, as I 'd 'bring _him_ to book.'"

"Make your mind easy about that," said Conway. "I never go in search of old scores. I would only say, don't leave yourself more in his power than you can easily escape from. As for myself, it's very unlikely I shall ever see him again."

"I wish you'd given up the Crimea," said Beecher, who, by one of the strange caprices of his strange nature, began to feel a sort of liking for Conway.

"Why should I give it up? It's the only career I 'm fit for,--if I even be fit for that, which, indeed, the Horse Guards don't seem to think.

But I 've got an old friend in the Piedmontese service who is going out in command of the cavalry, and I 'm on my way now to Turin to see whether he cannot make me something,--anything, in short, from an aide-de-camp to an orderly. Once before the enemy, it matters wonderfully little what rank a man holds."

"The chances of his being knocked over are pretty much alike," said Beecher, "if that's what you mean."