One was from Gerald. 'What is all this about Prime Minister? Is it
a sell? I am so unhappy.' The other was from Lady Mabel,--for
among other luxuries Mrs Montacute Jones had her own telegraph-wire
at Killancodlem. 'Can this be true? We are all so miserable. I do
hope it is not much.' From which he learned that his misfortune
was already known to all his friends.
And now what was he to do? He ate his supper, and then without
hesitating for a moment--feeling that if he did hesitate the task
would not be done on that night,--he sat down and wrote the
following letter.
'Carlton Terrace, Sept. 14, 18-.
'MY DEAR MR MORETON,
'I have just come up from Doncaster. You have probably heard what
has been Prime Minister's fate. I don't know whether any horse has
been such a favourite for the Leger. Early in the morning he was
taken out and picked up a nail. The consequence was he could not
run.
'Now I must come to the bad part of my story. I have lost seventy
thousand pounds! It is no use beating about the bush. The sum is
something over that.
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