Chapter XII

Luke was working in his office the next morning when his clerk came to tell him that a man had called.

“Looks like somebody who wants to touch you, sir.”

“Bring in this ambitious person, “ said Luke.

He swung round in his swivelled chair to meet the dilapidated little man who stood apologetically in the doorway, his greasy old cap in his hand.

“Hullo, Punch! Come in.”

He nodded to his clerk to withdraw. Punch had gone several degrees down the scale of respectability since Luke had seen him at Doncaster. The toes of his boots gaped; he was unshaven, and had obviously slept in his clothes the previous night, and probably many other previous nights.”

I walked up from Newbury, Mr. Luke. Couldn’t get a brief to get on to the course. If I had, and I’d found anybody with a couple of bob, I should have backed the winner of the Cup. Old Goodie was there, but when I asked him for the price of a drink he told me to go to hell. If I’d seen Trigger I’d have got it. Trigger’s not a bad feller. I did a couple of jobs for him when he was in a small way, and he’s always paid well—”

“You’re not going to tell me the story of your life, Punch,” said Luke. “What do you want?”

The man licked his cracked lips.

“I’ve had nothing to eat since yesterday.”

“And nothing to drink since this morning.”

The man shook his head vigorously. “ I’m on the wagon, I am indeed, Mr. Luke. More than a hundred thousand pounds have passed through my hands through booze, and it took me until a month ago to realise it. That’s what I wanted to see you about. It isn’t going straight, it’s going sober, and I know you’re the sort of gentleman who wouldn’t think twice about helping a feller if he thought he was willing to help himself.”

“You’ve had a few chances, Punch.” The man nodded.

“Yes, I have,” he said bitterly. “That’s why I’m having no chances now. Almost anybody’s willing to help a man once, even twice; it’s when he gets a regular sponger, as I have been, that he’s finished — can’t even raise the price of a meal. I’m not blaming anybody except meself. Nobody believes me when I tell ’em I’ve gone sober.”

Luke looked at him thoughtfully.

“I wonder if I could trust you,” he said, and interrupted the little man’s protestations with a gesture. “Anyway, I’m going to take a chance with you, Punch, and if you let me down I’ll never let up on you!”

He took out his pocketbook and found two five-pound notes.

“ Go out, have a bath, burn your clothes and get a respectable suit and a lodging. Report to me this afternoon; and keep your mouth shut about me.”

The man was incoherent, and ready to fly out on his mission, yet must stop to retail a little gossip.

“Field of Glory is no good for the Cambridgeshire. Tommy Dix rode him in a gallop yesterday morning. I saw one of the travelling lads at the station this morning, and he told me. I can’t see how he could be an