They don't know much about her this way, either,
though she's own sister to Boots, that won the Chester Cup last year,
owing to Topham's being swindled into letting him off with seven lbs. He
ran at the York Spring, you see, for a twopenny-halfpenny plate, and the
boy that rode him pulled his head half off--I saw him do it--and then he
won the Chester, and brought his owners a pot of money."
This information was not exactly what George Sheldon wanted, but he
planted himself on the hearthrug in an easy attitude, with his back
against the mantelpiece, and appeared much interested in Mr. Orcott's
discourse.
"Anything stirring in the City?" he asked presently.
"Stirring? No--nothing stirring but stagnation, as some fellow said in a
play I saw the other night. Barlingford folks say your brother Philip has
made a heap of money on the Stock Exchange; but if he has, he must have
done a good deal more business before I came to him than he has done
lately. I can't see how a man is to develop into a Rothschild out of an
occasional two-and-sixpence per cent on the transfer of some old woman's
savings from railway stock to consols; and that's about the only kind of
business I've seen much of lately. Of course Phil Sheldon has got irons
of his own in the fire; for he's an uncommonly deep card, you see, that
brother of yours, and it isn't to be expected he'll tell _me_ all he's up
to.
Pages:
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410