Ketley was preoccupied with dreams and omens; Journeyman,
a clerk in the parish registry office, studied public form; he was guided
by it in all his speculations, and paid little heed to the various rumours
always afloat regarding private trials. Public form he admitted did not
always come out right, but if a man had a headpiece and could remember all
the running, public form was good enough to follow. Racing with Journeyman
was a question of calculation, and great therefore was his contempt for
the weak and smiling Ketley, whom he went for on all occasions. But Ketley
was pluckier than his appearance indicated, and the duels between the two
were a constant source of amusement in the bar of the "King's Head."
"Well, Herbert, the omen wasn't altogether up to the mark this time," said
Journeyman, with a malicious twinkle in his small brown eyes.
"No, it was one of them unfortunate accidents."
"One of them unfortunate accidents," repeated Journeyman, derisively;
"what's accidents to do with them that 'as to do with the reading of
omens? I thought they rose above such trifles as weights, distances, bad
riding.... A stone or two should make no difference if the omen is right."
Ketley was no way put out by the slight titter that Journeyman's retort
had produced in the group about the bar.
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