“You come back,” halloed Tifto, jumping up from his seat with his pipe in his mouth. Then there was a general quarrel between the man and his two masters, in which the man at last was victorious. And the horse was taken into the stable in an unfinished condition. “It’s all very well to say ‘Get rid of him,’ but where am I to get anybody better? It has come to such a pass that now if you speak to a fellow he walks out of the yard.”
They then returned to the state of affairs, as it was between Tifto and Lord Silverbridge. “What I was saying is this,” continued the Captain. “If you choose to put yourself up to live with a fellow like that on equal terms—”
“One gentleman with another, you mean?”
“Put it so. It don’t quite hit it off, but put it so. Why then you get your wages when you take his arm and call him Silverbridge.”
“I don’t want wages from any man,” said the indignant Major.
“That comes from not knowing what wages is. I do want wages. If I do a thing I like to be paid for it. You are paid for it after one fashion, I prefer the other.”
“Do you mean he should give me—a salary?”
“I’d have it out of him some way. What’s the good of young chaps of that sort if they aren’t made to pay? You’ve got this young swell in tow. He’s going to be about the richest man in England;—and what the deuce better are you for it?” Tifto sat meditating, thinking of the wisdom which was being spoken. The same ideas had occurred to him. The happy chance which had made him intimate with Lord Silverbridge had not yet enriched him. “What is the good of chaps of that sort if they are not made to pay?” The words were wise words. But yet how glorious he had been when he was elected at the Beargarden, and had entered the club as the special friend of the heir of the Duke of Omnium.
After a short pause, Captain Green pursued his discourse. “You said salary.”
“I did mention the word.”
“Salary and wages is one. A salary is a nice thing if it’s paid regular. I had a salary once myself for looking after a stud of ’orses at Newmarket, only the gentleman broke up and it never went very far.”
“Was that Marley Bullock?”
“Yes; that was Marley Bullock. He’s abroad somewhere now with nothing a year paid quarterly to live on. I think he does a little at cards. He’d had a good bit of money once, but most of it was gone when he came my way.”
“You didn’t make by him?”
“I didn’t lose nothing. I didn’t have a lot of ’orses under me without getting something out of it.”
“What am I to do?” asked Tifto. “I can sell him a horse now and again. But if I give him anything good there isn’t much to come out of that.”
“Very little I should say. Don’t he put his money on his ’orses?”
“Not very free. I think he’s coming out freer now.”
“What did he stand to win on the Derby?”
“A thousand or two perhaps.”
“There may be something got handsome out of that,” said the Captain, not venturing to allow his voice to rise above a whisper. Major Tifto looked hard at him but said nothing. “Of course you must see your way.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
“Race ’orses are expensive animals—and races generally is expensive.”
“That’s true.”
“When so much is dropped, somebody has to pick it up. That’s what I’ve always said to myself. I’m as honest as another man.”
“That’s of course,” said the Major civilly.
“But if I don’t keep my mouth shut, somebody’ll have my teeth out of my head. Everyone for himself and God for us all. I suppose there’s a deal of money flying about. He’ll put a lot of money on this ’orse of yours for the Leger if he’s managed right. There’s more to be got out of that than calling him Silverbridge and walking arm-in-arm. Business is business. I don’t know whether I make myself understood.”
The gentleman did not quite make himself understood; but Tifto endeavoured to read the riddle. He must in some way make money out of his friend Lord Silverbridge. Hitherto he had contented himself with the brilliancy of the connection; but now his brilliant friend had taken to snubbing him, and had on more than one occasion made himself disagreeable. It seemed to him that Captain Green counselled him to put up with that, but counselled him at the same time to—pick up some of his friend’s money. He didn’t think that he could ask Lord Silverbridge for a salary—he who was a Master of Foxhounds, and a member of the Beargarden. Then his friend had suggested something about the young lord’s bets. He was endeavouring to unriddle all this with a brain that was already somewhat muddled with alcohol, when Captain Green got up from his chair and standing over the Major spoke his last words for that night as from an oracle. “Square is all very well, as long as others are square to you;—but when they aren’t, then I say square be d⸺. Square! what comes of it? Work your heart out, and then it’s no good.”
The Major thought about it much that night, and was thinking about it still when he awoke on the next morning. He would like to make Lord Silverbridge pay for his late insolence. It would answer his purpose to make a little money—as he told himself—in any honest way. At the present moment he was in want of money, and on looking into his affairs declared to himself that he had certainly impoverished himself by his devotion to Lord Silverbridge’s interests. At breakfast on the following morning he endeavoured to bring his friend back to the subject. But the Captain was cross, rather than oracular. “Everybody,” he
