The people looked at one another. They were apparently in doubt as to whether this young gentleman was altogether sane. "What has this very remarkable friend of yours given you for the Cup?"
"Ballet Girl."
"That sounds more promising. Ballet Girl's my own fancy, and the favourite. But, if you take my advice, Mr. Major, you'll keep out of the ring. Let me deal for you. If they know you're dealing it'll knock the market all to pieces; you'll get no price at all"
"What does it matter what price I get? What does it matter if I have to give ten to one if I know the horse will win?"
Mr. Wilmot shrugged his shoulders.
"Of course, if you know, there's nothing further to be said."
Mr. Major found the ring in a panic. His entry was greeted with a roar of voices.
"Mr. Major, you've about broke me," yelled Mr. Jacobs. Then came a volley of adjectives. "I can't make things out at all. Upon my soul, I don't know that I didn't ought to appeal to the stewards."
Someone shouted in the crowd—
"Pay up, Jake, and look pleasant!"
"I'll pay up," said Mr. Jacobs; "but as for looking pleasant"
There came more adjectives.
"What are you going to do in the Hunt Cup, Mr. Major?"
The inquiry came from neither Mr. Jacobs nor Mr. Grainger.
