He wore a rough handkerchief tied
round his handsome throat. His eyes were glassy with drink, and his
comrades strove to quieten him.
"Leave me alone," he exclaimed; "the bet was ten half-crowns to one. I
won't stand being welshed."
William's face flushed up. "Welshed!" he said. "No one speaks in this bar
of welshing." He would have sprung over the counter, but Esther held him
back.
"I know what I'm talking about; you let me alone," said the young workman,
and he struggled out of the hands of his friends. "The bet was ten
half-crowns to one."
"Don't mind what he says, guv'nor."
"Don't mind what I says!" For a moment it seemed as if the friends were
about to come to blows, but the young man's perceptions suddenly clouded,
and he said, "In this blo-ody bar last Monday... horse backed in
Tattersall's at twelve to one taken and offered."
"He don't know what he's talking about; but no one must accuse me of
welshing in this 'ere bar."
"No offence, guv'nor; mistakes will occur."
William could not help laughing, and he sent Teddy upstairs for Monday's
paper. He pointed out that eight to one was being asked for about the
horse on Monday afternoon at Tattersall's. The stage door-keeper and a
scene-shifter had just come over from the theatre, and had managed to
force their way into the jug and bottle entrance.
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