didn't seem to meet with that cheerful holiday-making crew at any of the
meetings up in the North, and I got sick of it. You see, I'd made sort
of friends with them. They all knew Dicky Fardell, and I knew hundreds
of 'em by sight. They'd come and mob me to stand 'em a drink when the
wrong horse won, and I can tell you I never refused. They were always
good-tempered, real sports to the backbone, and I tell you I was fond of
'em. And then they left off coming. I couldn't understand it at first.
The one or two who came talked of bad trade, and when I asked after their
pals they shook their heads. They betted in shillings instead of
half-crowns, and I didn't like the look of their faces when they lost.
I tell you, it got so at last that I used to watch for the horse they'd
put their bit on to win, and feel kind o' sick when it didn't. You can
imagine I couldn't stand that sort of thing long. I chucked it, and I
went to look for my pals. I wanted to find out what had become of them."

Mannering looked at him curiously.

"You found, I hope," he said, drily, "that the British workman had
discovered a better investment for his shillings and half-crowns than the
race-course."

Mr. Richard Fardell smiled pleasantly, but tolerantly.

"It's clear," he said, "that you, meaning no offence, Mr. Mannering, know
nothing about the British workman. Whatever else he may be, he's a
sportsman. He'll look after his wife and kids as well as the best of
them, but he'll have his bit of sport so long as he's got a copper in his
pocket. When he didn't come I put my kit on one side and went to look for
him. I went, mind you, as his friend, and knowing a bit about him. And
what I found has made a changed man of me."