United States or Portugal ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
When Warner returned to his offices it took him some hours to work out his accounts, and he emerged into the streets in the evening with the absolute certainty that the next settling-day would leave him either hopelessly bankrupt or exceedingly prosperous. It all depended upon Worlington Dodds's information. What could he possibly have found out at Dunsloe?
And yet he had effected the change without leaving the penurious little Irish townlet of Dunsloe, which could have been bought outright for a quarter of the sum which he had earned during the single day that he was within its walls.
He owns more horses than any man in the world, and asks the best money for them. I dare say you'll find that half of what are sold at the Dunsloe fair this day will go to him, and he's got such a purse that there's not a man who can bid against him." Worlington Dodds watched the doings of the great dealer with interest.
It seemed a huge function for so small a town, and he remarked as much to the waiter. "Well, you see, your honour, the horses don't live in the town, an' they don't vex their heads how small it is. But it's in the very centre of the horse-bradin' districts of Oireland, so where should they come to be sould if it wasn't to Dunsloe?"
He returned to his office in the afternoon, half inclined to back the chances of peace, for of all war scares not one in ten comes to pass. As he entered the office a telegram lay upon the table. It was from Dunsloe, a place of which he had never heard, and was signed by his absent partner. The message was in cipher, but he soon translated it, for it was short and crisp.
"Shure it's the Dunsloe horse fair, your honour the greatest horse-fair in all Oireland. It lasts for a wake, and the folk come from far an' near from England an' Scotland an' iverywhere. If you look out of the winder, your honour, you'll see the horses, and it's asy your honour's conscience must be, or you wouldn't slape so sound that the creatures didn't rouse you with their clatter."
Thus it was that upon the 15th of July, 1870, he found himself at his breakfast in the fly-blown coffee-room of the "George Hotel" in the market square of Dunsloe. It is a dull and depressing coffee-room, and one which is usually empty, but on this particular day it was as crowded and noisy as that of any London hotel.
Very handsome indeed!" murmured the salesman. "Then I understand, Mr. Mancune, that your offer of fifty pounds a head extends to the whole of these horses?" "Yes, sir." A long breath went up from the crowd. Seven thousand pounds at one deal. It was a record for Dunsloe. "Any advance, Mr. Strellenhaus?" "Fifty-one." "Fifty-five." "Fifty-six." "Sixty." They could hardly believe their ears.
"I am a bear of everything German and French. Sell, sell, sell, keep on selling." For a moment Warner hesitated. What could Worlington Dodds know at Dunsloe which was not known in Throgmorton Street? But he remembered the quickness and decision of his partner. He would not have sent such a message without very good grounds.
Word Of The Day