Rodney Stone by Arthur Conan Doyle (best motivational books txt) đ
- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
- Performer: -
Book online «Rodney Stone by Arthur Conan Doyle (best motivational books txt) đ». Author Arthur Conan Doyle
âA person to see you, Sir Charles,â said the new valet.
âYou know that I never see any one until my dressing is complete.â
âHe insists upon seeing you, sir. He pushed open the door.â
âPushed it open! What dâyou mean, Lorimer? Why didnât you put him out?â
A smile passed over the servantâs face. At the same moment there came a deep voice from the passage.
âYou show me in this instant, young man, dâye âear? Let me see your master, or itâll be the worse for you.â
I thought that I had heard the voice before, but when, over the shoulder of the valet, I caught a glimpse of a large, fleshy, bull-face, with a flattened Michael Angelo nose in the centre of it, I knew at once that it was my neighbour at the supper party.
âItâs Warr, the prizefighter, sir,â said I.
âYes, sir,â said our visitor, pushing his huge form into the room. âItâs Bill Warr, landlord of the One Ton public-âouse, Jermyn Street, and the gamest man upon the list. Thereâs only one thing that ever beat me, Sir Charles, and that was my flesh, which creeps over me that amazinâ fast that Iâve always got four stone that âas no business there. Why, sir, Iâve got enough to spare to make a feather-weight champion out of. Youâd âardly think, to look at me, that even after Mendoza fought me I was able to jump the four-foot ropes at the ringside just as light as a little kiddy; but if I was to chuck my castor into the ring now Iâd never get it till the wind blew it out again, for blow my dicky if I could climb after. My respecâs to you, young sir, and I âope I see you well.â
My uncleâs face had expressed considerable disgust at this invasion of his privacy, but it was part of his position to be on good terms with the fighting-men, so he contented himself with asking curtly what business had brought him there. For answer the huge prizefighter looked meaningly at the valet.
âItâs important, Sir Charles, and between man and man,â said he.
âYou may go, Lorimer. Now, Warr, what is the matter?â
The bruiser very calmly seated himself astride of a chair with his arms resting upon the back of it.
âIâve got information, Sir Charles,â said he.
âWell, what is it?â cried my uncle, impatiently.
âInformation of value.â
âOut with it, then!â
âInformation thatâs worth money,â said Warr, and pursed up his lips.
âI see. You want to be paid for what you know?â
The prizefighter smiled an affirmative.
âWell, I donât buy things on trust. You should know me better than to try on such a game with me.â
âI know you for what you are, Sir Charles, and that is a noble, slap-up Corinthian. But if I was to use this against you, dâye see, it would be worth âundreds in my pocket. But my âeart wonât let me do it, for Bill Warrâs always been on the side oâ good sport and fair play. If I use it for you, then I expect that you wonât see me the loser.â
âYou can do what you like,â said my uncle. âIf your news is of service to me, I shall know how to treat you.â
âYou canât say fairer than that. Weâll let it stand there, govânor, and youâll do the âandsome thing, as you âave always âad the name for doinâ. Well, then, your man, Jim âArisen, fights Crab Wilson, of Gloucester, at Crawley Down to-morrow morninâ for a stake.â
âWhat of that?â
âDid you âappen to know what the bettinâ was yesterday?â
âIt was three to two on Wilson.â
âRight you are, govânor. Three to two was offered in my own bar-parlour. Dâyou know what the bettinâ is to-day?â
âI have not been out yet.â
âThen Iâll tell you. Itâs seven to one against your man.â
âWhat?â
âSeven to one, govânor, no less.â
âYouâre talking nonsense, Warr! How could the betting change from three to two to seven to one?â
âIve been to Tom Owenâs, and Iâve been to the âOle in the Wall, and Iâve been to the Waggon and âOrses, and you can get seven to one in any of them. Thereâs tons of money being laid against your man. Itâs a âorse to a âen in every sportinâ âouse and boozinâ ken from âere to Stepney.â
For a moment the expression upon my uncleâs face made me realize that this match was really a serious matter to him. Then he shrugged his shoulders with an incredulous smile.
âAll the worse for the fools who give the odds,â said he. âMy man is all right. You saw him yesterday, nephew?â
âHe was all right yesterday, sir.â
âIf anything had gone wrong I should have heard.â
âBut perhaps,â said Warr, âit âas not gone wrong with âim YET.â
âWhat dâyou mean?â
âIâll tell you what I mean, sir. You remember Berks? You know that âe ainât to be overmuch depended on at any time, and that âe âad a grudge against your man âcause âe laid âim out in the coach-âouse. Well, last night about ten oâclock in âe comes into my bar, and the three bloodiest rogues in London at âis âeels. There was Red Ike, âim that was warned off the ring âcause âe fought a cross with Bittoon; and there was Fightinâ Yussef, who would sell âis mother for a seven-shillinâ-bit; the third was Chris McCarthy, who is a fogle-snatcher by trade, with a pitch outside the âAymarket Theatre. You donât often see four such beauties together, and all with as much as they could carry, save only Chris, who is too leary a cove to drink when thereâs somethinâ goinâ forward. For my part, I showed âem into the parlour, not âcos they was worthy of it, but âcos I knew right well they would start bashinâ some of my customers, and maybe get my license into trouble if I left âem in the bar. I served âem with drink, and stayed with âem just to see that they didnât lay their âands on the stuffed parroquet and the pictures.
âWell, govânor, to cut it short, they began to talk about the fight, and they all laughed at the idea that young Jim âArrison could win itâall except Chris, and eâ kept a-nudging and a-twitchinâ at the others until Joe Berks nearly gave him a wipe across the face for âis trouble. I saw somethinâ was in the wind, and it wasnât very âard to guess what it wasâespecially when Red Ike was ready to put up a fiver that Jim âArrison would never fight at all. So I up to get another bottle of liptrap, and I slipped round to the shutter that we pass the liquor through from the private bar into the parlour. I drew it an inch open, and I might âave been at the table with them, I could âear every word that clearly.
âThere was Chris McCarthy growlinâ at them for not keepinâ their tongues still, and there was Joe Berks swearinâ that âe would knock âis face in if âe dared give âim any of âis lip. So Chris âe sort of argued with them, for âe was frightened of Berks, and âe put it to them whether they would be fit for the job in the morninâ, and whether the govânor would pay the money if âe found they âad been drinkinâ and were not to be trusted. This struck them sober, all three, anâ Fighting Yussef asked what time they were to start. Chris said that as long as they were at Crawley before the George shut up they could work it. âItâs poor pay for a chance of a rope,â said Red Ike. âRope be damned!â cried Chris, takinâ a little loaded stick out of his side pocket. âIf three of you âold him down and I break his arm-bone with this, weâve earned our money, and we donât risk moreân six monthsâ jug.â âEâll fight,â said Berks. âWell, itâs the only fight âeâll get,â answered Chris, and that was all I âeard of it. This morninâ out I went, and I found as I told you afore that the money is goinâ on to Wilson by the ton, and that no odds are too long for the layers. So it stands, govânor, and you know what the meaninâ of it may be better than Bill Warr can tell you.â
âVery good, Warr,â said my uncle, rising. âI am very much obliged to you for telling me this, and I will see that you are not a loser by it. I put it down as the gossip of drunken ruffians, but none the less you have served me vastly by calling my attention to it. I suppose I shall see you at the Downs to-morrow?â
âMr. Jackson âas asked me to be one oâ the beaters-out, sir.â
âVery good. I hope that we shall have a fair and good fight. Good day to you, and thank you.â
My uncle had preserved his jaunty demeanour as long as Warr was in the room, but the door had hardly closed upon him before he turned to me with a face which was more agitated than I had ever seen it.
âWe must be off for Crawley at once, nephew,â said he, ringing the bell. âThereâs not a moment to be lost. Lorimer, order the bays to be harnessed in the curricle. Put the toilet things in, and tell William to have it round at the door as soon as possible.â
âIâll see to it, sir,â said I, and away I ran to the mews in Little Ryder Street, where my uncle stabled his horses. The groom was away, and I had to send a lad in search of him, while with the help of the livery-man I dragged the curricle from the coach-house and brought the two mares out of their stalls. It was half an hour, or possibly three-quarters, before everything had been found, and Lorimer was already waiting in Jermyn Street with the inevitable baskets, whilst my uncle stood in the open door of his house, clad in his long fawn-coloured driving-coat, with no sign upon his calm pale face of the tumult of impatience which must, I was sure, be raging within.
âWe shall leave you, Lorimer,â said he. âWe might find it hard to get a bed for you. Keep at her head, William! Jump in, nephew. Halloa, Warr, what is the matter now?â
The prizefighter was hastening towards us as fast as his bulk would allow.
âJust one word before you go, Sir Charles,â he panted. âIâve just âeard in my taproom that the four men I spoke of left
Comments (0)