If he do there'll be tons of money on him. He'll be backed at the post at
five to one. Before the weights come out they'll lay a hundred to one on
the field in any of the big clubs. I wouldn't mind putting a quid on him
if you'll join me."
"Better wait until the weights come out," said Journeyman, "for if it
happened to come to Courtney's ears that old Ben could be trained he'd
clap seven-ten on him without a moment's hesitation."
"You think so?" said Stack.
"I do," said Journeyman.
"But you agree with me that if he got let off with anything less than
seven stone, and be brought fit, or thereabouts, to the post, that the
race is a moral certainty for him?"
"A thousand to a brass farthing."
"Mind, not a word."
"Is it likely?"
The conversation paused a moment, and Journeyman said, "You've not seen my
'andicap for the Cambridgeshire. I wonder what you'd think of that?" Stack
said he would be glad to see it another time, and suggested that they go
downstairs.
"I'm afraid the police is in," said Stack, when he opened the door.
"Then we'd better stop where we are; I don't want to be took to the
station."
They listened for some moments, holding the door ajar.
"It ain't the police," said Stack, "but a row about some bet. Latch had
better be careful."
The cause of the uproar was a tall young English workman, whose beard was
pale gold, and whose teeth were white.
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