... What can I do for
you to-day, sir?' There's but one sort of cove I can't abide."
"And he is--" said Journeyman.
"He is Mr. George Buff."
"Who's he? who's he?" asked several; and the vagrant caused some amusement
by the question, "Do 'e bet on the course?"
"Yes, he do," said William, "an' nowhere else. He's at every meeting as
reg'lar as if he was a bookie himself. I 'ates to see his face.... I'd be
a rich man if I'd all the money that man 'as 'ad out of me in the last
three years."
"What should you say was his system?" asked Mr. Stack.
"I don't know no more than yerselves."
This admission seemed a little chilling; for everyone had thought himself
many steps nearer El Dorado.
"But did you ever notice," said Mr. Ketley, "that there was certain days
on which he bet?"
"No, I never noticed that."
"Are they outsiders that he backs?" asked Stack.
"No, only favourites. But what I can't make out is that there are times
when he won't touch them; and when he don't, nine times out of ten they're
beaten."
"Are the 'orses he backs what you'd call well in?" said Journeyman.
"Not always."
"Then it must be on information from the stable authorities?" said Stack.
"I dun know," said William; "have it that way if you like, but I'm glad
there ain't many about like him.
Pages:
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372