CANYNGE. What!
ST ERTH. I looked in on my way down.
CANYNGE sits very still, and WINSOR utters a disturbed sound.
BORRING. But of c-course he was, General. What did you expect?
A FOOTMAN enters.
FOOTMAN. Yes, my lord?
ST ERTH. What won the Cambridgeshire?
FOOTMAN. Rosemary, my lord. Sherbet second; Barbizon third. Nine to
one the winner.
WINSOR. Thank you. That's all.
FOOTMAN goes.
BORRING. Rosemary! And De Levis sold her! But he got a good p-price, I
suppose.
The other three look at him.
ST ERTH. Many a slip between price and pocket, young man.
CANYNGE. Cut! [They cut].
BORRING. I say, is that the yarn that's going round about his having had
a lot of m-money stolen in a country house? By Jove! He'll be pretty
s-sick.
WINSOR. You and I, Borring.
He sits down in CANYNGE'S chair, and the GENERAL takes his place by
the fire.
BORRING. Phew! Won't Dancy be mad! He gave that filly away to save her
keep. He was rather pleased to find somebody who'd take her. Bentman
must have won a p-pot. She was at thirty-threes a fortnight ago.
ST ERTH. All the money goes to fellows who don't know a horse from a
haystack.
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