Well, that conversation came back to me as clear
as if the dawn had begun to break. I could positively see the bloody corn;
I could pretty well 'ave counted it. I felt there was an omen about
somewhere, and all of a tremble I took up the paper; it was lying on the
bar just where your hand is, Walter. But at that moment, just as I was
about to cast my eye down the list of 'orses, a cab comes down the street
as 'ard as it could tear. There was but two or three of us in the bar, and
we rushed out--the shafts was broke, 'orse galloping and kicking, and the
cabby 'olding on as 'ard as he could. But it was no good, it was bound to
go, and over it went against the kerb. The cabby, poor chap, was pretty
well shook to pieces; his leg was broke, and we'd to 'elp to take him to
the hosspital. Now I asks if it was no more than might be expected that I
should have gone wrong about the omen. Next day, as luck would have it, I
rolled up 'alf a pound of butter in a piece of paper on which 'Cross
Roads' was written."
"But if there had been no accident and you 'ad looked down the list of
'orses, 'ow do yer know that yer would 'ave spotted the winner?"
"What, not Wheatear, and with all that American corn in my 'ead? Is it
likely I'd've missed it?"
No one answered, and Ketley drank his whisky in the midst of a most
thoughtful silence.
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