"I wep' a tear. I did reely," he said at last. Then he shook a sorrowful head. "I ain't one o' yer whitewings meself," he said. "Not by no means. But he shock me, Monkey do. He does reely." He dabbed his eye. "Rogues and rasqueals, yer Grace," he said. "All very well. But there is a limit, as the Psalmist very proply remarked."
The Duke turned to go, his curiosity still unsatisfied.
"Where's Boy?" he asked gruffly. "I've seen nothing of her this time."
"She's kep' busy, your Grace—nursin' the baby."
"How is he?"
"Keeps a-crowin'," said the old man, "from all I hears of it."
CHAPTER XLVII
On the Course
Next morning was gray with gleams of sun: an ideal day, old hands said, for the great race of the year.
Mat found his way to the Paddock early and alone.