Amanda Scott Read Online Free PDF Page A

shortly after that, sitting cross-legged on the ground, chattering away to himself. I bade him good-day, and took the liberty of inquiring about what he was doing there.”
    “‘Why, sir,’ says he, ‘I am at play.’”
    “‘At play? With whom?’ I asked. ‘I see no one.’”
    “‘My antagonist is not visible,’ says he. ‘I am playing with God.’”
    Lord Thomas exclaimed, “The devil he did! What did you say to that, Dory?”
    “I asked what game they were playing, of course.”
    Vexford chuckled. “Good for you, Vicar. What game did he say?”
    “Chess.”
    “And did you see a chessboard?”
    “None. Indeed, I pointed that out to the chap, and then—just funning a bit, you understand—I asked if he and God had placed any wagers on the outcome.”
    “And had they?”
    “According to my newfound acquaintance, they had. And—would you believe it—when I mentioned that he did not stand a chance to win such a wager, since his adversary must be the superior player, he said, ‘He takes no advantage of me, sir, but plays as a mere mortal.’ Being naturally rather stunned, I asked how they settled accounts. ‘Very exactly and punctually,’ says he. ‘And pray, how stands your game now?’ I asked, whereupon the chap admitted that he had just lost to his opponent.”
    “And how much had he lost?” Vexford asked.
    “Twenty guineas,” the vicar said with an enigmatic smile.
    “By Jupiter, Dory,” Thomas exclaimed, “the poor fellow must be all about in his head! You didn’t leave him out there all alone, did you?”
    “Patience, Thomas, I have not yet come to the end of my tale. When I asked how he would manage to pay what he owed, he said the poor were his treasurers. He said his opponent always sends some worthy person to receive the money lost, ‘And,’ says he to me, ‘you are at present His purse-bearer, sir.’”
    Thomas stared. “You’re hoaxing us, Dory, admit it! Dash it, it ain’t the thing for a man of the cloth to be telling such Banbury tales.”
    In response, the vicar reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a handful of guineas. “See for yourself. I would offer to pay for our supper, but I am honor-bound to contribute it to the poor box. I just wanted to share my tale with someone else before I did so. Passing strange, is it not?”
    Thomas gaped at the golden coins in his brother’s hand, then looked at Vexford.
    Though Nick might have suspected another man of lying, not for a moment did he think the vicar had done so. And although he knew that innocents were frequently duped by sharps of one sort or another, who allowed them to win money at a gaming table in order to draw them back again to play for higher stakes at a later date, this was clearly not such a case. Such dupes were, in his experience, more greedy and less honorable than the worthy vicar. And no matter what devious thoughts might have been in the strange chess player’s mind, the fellow could have nothing to gain by giving the vicar money for the poor box.
    The servant soon placed their supper before them, and conversation became desultory until they had finished eating. Then, when a second bottle of wine had been placed on the table, the vicar asked casually, “How does young Oliver fare at our alma mater, Nicholas?”
    Nick shrugged and said with a hint of amusement, “Haven’t heard of any earthquakes or fires in Oxford of late, Vicar, so my guess is that he’s been locked up or dug six feet under and they just haven’t got round yet to telling the family.”
    The vicar chuckled, but Lord Thomas said with a grimace, “That brother of yours is a damned menace, if you ask me. I still remember that awful fortnight I spent with you at Owlcastle during a long vacation, when that brat put honey in my shoes and then made me pay him to guard my door against some villain or other who supposedly enjoyed putting tacks on the door sill each morning. Dashed if I didn’t catch that scalawag, Oliver,