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Godwin. To please you."
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"You shan't regret it," Godwin said. He brushed ruefully at the frayed sleeves
of his frock-
coat. "Fifty pounds. I can use it. A triumphant inventor, on the rise in life
and such, shouldn't have to dress like a parson."
"I shouldn't think you'd waste good money on vanities."
"It's not vanity to dress as befits one's station." Godwin looked him over,
sharp-eyed.
"That's your old Wyoming tramping-coat, isn't it?"
"A practical garment," Mallory said.
"Not for London. Not for giving fancy lectures to fine London ladies with a
modish taste in natural-history."
"I'm not ashamed of what I am," Mallory said stoutly.
"Simple Ned Mallory," Godwin nodded, "come to Epsom in an engineer's cap, so
the lads won't feel anxious at meeting a famous savant. I know why you did
that, Ned, and I admire it. But mark my word, you'll be Lord Mallory some day,
as surely as we stand here drinking. You'll have a fine silk coat, and a
ribbon on your pocket, and stars and medals from all the learned schools. For
you're the man dug up the great Land Leviathan, and made wondrous sense from a
tangle of rocky bones. That's what you are now, Ned, and you might as well
face up to it."
"It's not so simple as you think," Mallory protested. "You don't know the
politics of the
Royal Society. I'm a Catastrophist. The Uniformitarians hold sway, when it
comes to the granting of tenures and honors. Men like Lyell, and that damned
fool Rudwick."
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"Charles Darwin's a Lordship. Gideon Mantell's a Lordship, and his Iguanodon's
a shrimp, ranked next to your Brontosaur."
"Don't you speak ill of Gideon Mantell! He's the finest man of science Sussex
ever had, and he was very kind to me."
Godwin looked down into his empty mug. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I spoke
a bit too frankly, I can see that. We're far from wild Wyoming, where we sat
about a campfire as simple brother Englishmen, scratching wherever it itched."
He put his smoked spectacles on. "But I remember those theory-talks you'd give
us, explaining what those bones were all about. 'Form follows function.' 'The
fittest survive.' New forms lead the way. They may look queer at first, but
Nature tests them fair and square against the old, and if they're sound in
principle, then the world is theirs." Godwin looked up. "If you can't see that
your theory is bone to my sinew, then you're not the man I take you for."
Mallory removed his cap. "It's I who should beg your pardon, sir. Forgive my
foolish temper. I
hope you'll always speak to me frankly, Mr. Godwin, ribbons on my chest or no.
May I never be so unscientific as to close my eyes to honest truth." He
offered his hand.
Godwin shook it.
A fanfare rang from across the course, the crowd responding with a rustle and
a roar. All around them, people began to move, migrating toward the stands
like a vast herd of ruminants.
"I'm off to make that wager we discussed," Mallory said.
"I must get back to my lads. Join us after the run? To split the winnings?"
"Certainly," Mallory said.
"Let me take that empty pint," Godwin offered. Mallory gave it to him, and
walked away.
Having taken leave of his friend. Mallory instantly regretted his promise. Ten
pounds was a stiff sum indeed; he himself had survived on little more per
annum, during his student days.
And yet, he considered, strolling in the general direction of the book-makers'
canopied stalls, Godwin was a most exacting technician and a scrupulously
honest man. He had no reason whatever to doubt Godwin's estimates of the
race's outcome, and a man who wagered handsomely on
Zephyr might leave Epsom that evening with a sum equivalent to several years'
income. If one were to bet thirty pounds, or forty . . .
Mallory had very nearly fifty pounds on deposit in a City bank, the better
part of his expedition bonus. He wore an additional twelve in the stained
canvas money-belt firmly cinched beneath his waistcoat.
He thought of his poor father gone feeble with hatter's madness, poisoned by
mercury, twitching and muttering in his chair by the hearth in Surrey. A
portion of Mallory's money was already allocated for the coal that fed that
hearth.
Still, one might come away with four hundred pounds . . . But no, he would be
sensible, and wager only the ten, fulfilling his agreement with Godwin. Ten
pounds would be a sharp loss, but one he could bear. He worked the fingers of
his right hand between the buttons of his waistcoat, feeling for the buttoned
flap of the canvas belt.
He chose to place his bet with the thoroughly modern firm of Dwyer and
Company, rather than the venerable and perhaps marginally more reputable
Tattersall's. He had frequently passed Dwyer's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]