EXIT A MAN OF THE WORLD
That a man of the world so subject to the vicissitudes of fortunes as Montague Dartie should still be living in a house he had inhabited twenty years at least would have been more noticeable if the rent,rates,taxes,and repairs of that house had not been defrayed by his father-in-law.By that simple if wholesale device James Forsyte had secured a certain stability in the lives of his daughter and his grandchildren.After all,there is something invaluable about a safe roof over the head of a sportsman so dashing as Dartie.Until the events of the last few days he had been almost-supernaturally steady all this year.The fact was he had acquired a half share in a filly of George Forsyte's,who had gone irreparably on the turf,to the horror of Roger,now stilled by the grave.Sleeve-links,by Martyr,out of Shirt-on-fire,by Suspender,was a bay filly,three years old,who for a variety of reasons had never shown her true form.With half ownership of this hopeful animal,all the idealism latent somewhere in Dartie,as in every other man,had put up its head,and kept him quietly ardent for months past.When a man has some thing good to live for it is astonishing how sober he becomes;and what Dartie had was really good--a three to one chance for an autumn handicap,publicly assessed at twenty-five to one.The old-fashioned heaven was a poor thing beside it,and his shirt was on the daughter of Shirt-on-fire.But how much more than his shirt depended on this granddaughter of Suspender!At that roving age of forty-five,trying to Forsytes--and,though perhaps less distinguishable from any other age,trying even to Darties--Montague had fixed his current fancy on a dancer.It was no mean passion,but without money,and a good deal of it,likely to remain a love as airy as her skirts;and Dartie never had any money,subsisting miserably on what he could beg or borrow from Winifred--a woman of character,who kept him because he was the father of her children,and from a lingering admiration for those now-dying Wardour Street good looks which in their youth had fascinated her.She,together with anyone else who would lend him anything,and his losses at cards and on the turf (extraordinary how some men make a good thing out of losses!)were his whole means of subsistence;for James was now too old and nervous to approach,and Soames too formidably adamant.It is not too much to say that Dartie had been living on hope for months.He had never been fond of money for itself,had always despised the Forsytes with their investing habits,though careful to make such use of them as he could.What he liked about money was what it bought--personal sensation.
"No real sportsman cares for money,"he would say,borrowing a 'pony'if it was no use trying for a 'monkey.'There was something delicious about Montague Dartie.He was,as George Forsyte said,a 'daisy.'
The morning of the Handicap dawned clear and bright,the last day of September,and Dartie who had travelled to Newmarket the night before,arrayed himself in spotless checks and walked to an eminence to see his half of the filly take her final canter:If she won he would be a cool three thou.in pocket--a poor enough recompense for the sobriety and patience of these weeks of hope,while they had been nursing her for this race.But he had not been able to afford more.Should he 'lay it off'at the eight to one to which she had advanced?This was his single thought while the larks sang above him,and the grassy downs smelled sweet,and the pretty filly passed,tossing her head and glowing like satin.
After all,if he lost it would not be he who paid,and to 'lay it off'would reduce his winnings to some fifteen hundred--hardly enough to purchase a dancer out and out.Even more potent was the itch in the blood of all the Darties for a real flutter.And turning to George he said:"She's a clipper.She'll win hands down;I shall go the whole hog."George,who had laid off every penny,and a few besides,and stood to win,however it came out,grinned down on him from his bulky height,with the words:"So ho,my wild one!"for after a chequered apprenticeship weathered with the money of a deeply complaining Roger,his Forsyte blood was beginning to stand him in good stead in the profession of owner.
There are moments of disillusionment in the lives of men from which the sensitive recorder shrinks.Suffice it to say that the good thing fell down.Sleeve-links finished in the ruck.Dartie's shirt was lost.
Between the passing of these things and the day when Soames turned his face towards Green Street,what had not happened!
When a man with the constitution of Montague Dartie has exercised self-control for months from religious motives,and remains un-rewarded,he does not curse God and die,he curses God and lives,to the distress of his family.