Blore.

She is, sir.

The Dean.

I know better; she can never get down the hill with those legs of hers.

Blore.

She can, sir—what’s to beat her?

The Dean.

The horse in my stable—Dandy Dick!

Blore.

Dandy Dick! That old bit of ma’ogany, sir. They’re layin’ ten to one against him.