“All right, if you’d really rather. Five shillings, and I gave a bob to the driver.”
Miss Bartlett looked in her purse. Only sovereigns and pennies. Could anyone give her change? Freddy had half a quid and his friend had four half-crowns. Miss Bartlett accepted their moneys and then said: “But who am I to give the sovereign to?”
“Let’s leave it all till mother comes back,” suggested Lucy.
“No, dear; your mother may take quite a long drive now that she is not hampered with me. We all have our little foibles, and mine is the prompt settling of accounts.”
Here Freddy’s friend, Mr. Floyd, made the one remark of his that need be quoted: he offered to toss Freddy for Miss Bartlett’s quid. A solution seemed in sight, and even Cecil, who had been ostentatiously drinking his tea at the view, felt the eternal attraction of Chance, and turned round.
But this did not do, either.
“Please—please—I know I am a sad spoilsport, but it would make me wretched. I should practically be robbing the one who lost.”
“Freddy owes me fifteen shillings,” interposed Cecil. “So it will work out right if you give the pound to me.”
“Fifteen shillings,” said Miss Bartlett dubiously. “How is that, Mr. Vyse?”
“Because, don’t you see, Freddy paid your cab. Give me the pound, and we shall avoid this deplorable gambling.”
Miss Bartlett, who was poor at figures, became bewildered and rendered up the sovereign, amidst the suppressed gurgles of the other youths. For a