"Never!" cried Monkey, genuinely indignant. "Are I a copper's nark?"
Whether because of childhood memories, or for some other reason, the copper was still for Monkey Brand the enemy of the human race; and the little jockey had his own code of honour, to which he scrupulously adhered.
"What shall you do?" asked Jim.
The jockey jerked his head mysteriously. Then he limped away down the gangway, behind sleeping horses, into the loose-box at the end where stood Four-Pound-the-Second.
Carefully he closed the door behind the young man and put his lantern down.
"See, you thought I was on the crook, didn't you, sir?" he said ironically, pursing his eye-lids.
"So you are," replied the young man.
Monkey wagged his head sententiously.
"Oh, I'm on the crook all right in a manner o' speakin'," he admitted. "Only where it is, there's crooks and crooks. There's crooks that is on the straight—"
"And there's straights that is on the crook," interposed Jim. "As per item, Monkey Brand."