"Siren wins!" cried Lord Norton, with a grim smile, and "Siren!" the
mob shouted back with wonder and angry disappointment, and "Siren!"
the hills echoed from far across the course. Young Harringford felt as
if he had suddenly been lifted into heaven after three months of
purgatory, and smiled uncertainly at the excited people on the coach
about him. It made him smile even now when he recalled young Norton's
flushed face and the awe and reproach in his voice when he climbed up
and whispered, "Why, Cecil, they say in the ring you've won a fortune,
and you never told us." And how Griffith, the biggest of the book-
makers, with the rest of them at his back, came up to him and touched
his hat resentfully, and said, "You'll have to give us time, sir; I'm
very hard hit"; and how the crowd stood about him and looked at him
curiously, and the Certain Royal Personage turned and said, "Who--not
that boy, surely?" Then how, on the day following, the papers told of
the young gentleman who of all others had won a fortune, thousands and
thousands of pounds they said, getting back sixty for every one he had
ventured; and pictured him in baby clothes with the cup in his arms,
or in an Eton jacket; and how all of them spoke of him slightingly, or
admiringly, as the "Goodwood Plunger.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141