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‘I’m sorry to say it doesn’t at all surprise me,’ answered Mr. Daffy, who perceived that the speaker was Mr. Lott’s son-in-law. ‘But I can’t sympathise with you very much. If you have dealings with a book-maker–‘

‘A blackleg, a blackleg!’ shouted Bowles. ‘Bookmakers are respectable men in comparison with him. He’s bled me, the brute! He tempted me on and on– Look here, Mr. Lott, I know as well as you do that I’ve been an infernal fool. I’ve had my eyes opened–now that it’s too late. I hear my wife told you that, and I’m glad she did. I’ve been a fool, yes; but I fell into the hands of the greatest scoundrel unhung, and he’s ruined me. You heard from Jane what I was gone about. It’s no good. I came back by the first train this morning without a mouthful of breakfast. It’s all up with me; I’m a cursed beggar–and that thief is the cause of it. And he comes into my house no better than a burglar–and lays his hands on everything that’ll bring money. Where’s the account of that sale, you liar? I’ll go to a magistrate about this.’

Charles Daffy sat in a reposeful attitude. The scene amused him; he chuckled inwardly from time to time. But of a sudden his aspect changed; he started up, and spoke with a snarling emphasis.

‘I’ve had just about enough. Look here, clear out, all of you! There’s the door–go!’

Mr. Daffy moved towards him.

‘Is that how you speak to your father, Charles?’ he exclaimed indignantly.

‘Yes, it is. Take your hook with the others; I’m sick of your tommy-rot!’

‘Then listen to me before I go,’ cried Mr. Daffy, his short and awkward figure straining in every muscle for the dignity of righteous wrath. ‘I don’t know whether you are more a fool or a knave. Perhaps you really think that there’s as much to be said for your way of earning a living as for any other. I hope you do, for it’s a cruel thing to suppose that my son has turned out a shameless scoundrel. Let me tell you, then, this business of yours is one that moves every honest and sensible man to anger and disgust. It matters nothing whether you keep the rules of the blackguard game, or whether you cheat; the difference between bookmaker and blackleg is so small that it isn’t worth talking about. You live by the plunder of people who are foolish and vicious enough to fall into your clutches. You’re an enemy of society–that’s the plain truth of it; as much an enemy of society as the forger or the burglar. You live–and live in luxury–by the worst vice of our time, the vice which is rotting English life, the vice which will be our national ruin if it goes on much longer. When you were a boy, you’ve heard me many a time say all I thought about racing and betting; you’ve heard me speak with scorn of the high-placed people who set so vile an example to the classes below them. If I could have foreseen that you would sink to such disgrace!’

Charles was standing in an attitude of contemptuous patience. He looked at his watch and interjected a remark.

‘I can only allow your eloquence one minute and a half more.’

‘That will be enough,’ replied his father sternly. ‘The only thing I have to add is, that all the money you have stolen from Mr. Bowles I, as a simple duty, shall repay. You’re no longer a boy. In the eye of the law I am not responsible for you; but for very shame I must make good the wrong you have done in this case. I couldn’t stand in my shop day by day, and know that every one was saying, “There’s the man whose son ruined Mr. Lott’s son-in-law and sold up his home,” unless I had done all I could to repair the mischief. I shall ask Mr. Bowles for a full account of what he has lost to you, and if it’s in my power, every penny shall be made good. He, thank goodness, seems to have learnt his lesson.’