"Never!" he cried. "They've took a slice off o' you, and now you must take a bit off o' them. That mayn't be religion, but it's right all right!"
He rose and, kicking off his slippers, padded to the door and looked out. Then he peeped out into the forsaken yard and half drew the curtain.
Silver, who loved the old man most when he was most mysterious, watched him with kind eyes that laughed.
"I don't bet, Mr. Silver, as you know," began the other huskily, "except when it's a cert., because it's against her principles." He looked round him and dropped his voice. "But I took a thousand to ten about Fo'-Pound-the-Second at Gatwick on Saraday. Told Mar, too. And she never said No. Look to me like a sign like." He blinked up at the young man. "You ain't clean'd out, sir, are you—not mopped up with the sponge?" he asked anxiously.
"There'll be a few thousands left when it's finished, I guess," replied the other.
The old man lifted on his stockinged toes.
"Put a thousand on," he whispered. "I'll do it for ye, so there's no talk. If he wins, thar's a hundred thousand back. If he don't, well, it's gone down the sink and h'up the spout same as its fathers afore it."
The young man brimmed with quiet mirth.
"Will he win?" he asked.
Old Mat swung his nose from side to side across his face in a way styled by those who knew him trunk-slinging.