"Hundred thousand down," continued Monkey. "That's the contrak—writ out in red ink on parchment. It's a fortune."
Joses was recovering himself.
"It's nothing to what the mare'll carry all said," he mused. "American's bankin' on her to the last dollar, let alone the Three J's.... There's more in it than money, too. There's pride and sentiment, the old animosities." He added after a pause—"Half a million's a lot of money though. There'll be pickings, too—for those that deserve them."
Monkey moved restlessly.
"I daresay," he said irritably. "Not as it matters to me. Not as nothin' matters to me now. Work you to the bone while you can work, and scrap you when they've wore you out. It's a bloody world, as I've said afore."
"Come!" cried the fat man. "The game's not up. There's more masters than one in the world!"
The little man was not to be consoled.
"See where it is, Mr. Joses: I'm too old to start afresh."
"Have they sacked you then?"
The other shook his head.