"You're precious sharp on him, Muzzy; it isn't settling-day yet."
"I know it isn't, Mr. Con, I know it isn't; but the governor's always good to me. I'll give him a dollar if he let's me have the money now. I'll take eleven dollars--eleven fives are fifty-five. That's good interest, Mr. Con, and that's what the governor likes."
"Hullo, Muzzy," exclaims Mr. David Sheldrake, as he enters the room, "what are you shaking and quavering about for, eh? How much did you back Taraban for altogether?"
With an easy nod to Con Stavely, Mr. Sheldrake seats himself and lights a cigar.
"Only a dollar, sir, only a dollar with you," replies Muzzy. "I'd have backed it for more--for all I could raise--but a dollar was all I had, and I couldn't raise another shilling."
"Just like your luck, eh, Muzzy?"
"Yes, sir, just like my luck. I've spotted many a winner, sir, and never had the money to back them. But luck's been against me all my life, sir--all my life!"
He passes the back of his hand slowly across his mouth half a dozen times, and stands looking timidly at Mr. Sheldrake, with an uncertain look in his eyes.
"Well, Muzzy, what do you want now?" asks Mr. Sheldrake, with an inward chuckle, knowing the old man's thoughts.
"I thought, sir, you might be so good as to pay me the odds on Taraban. I'm in want of money, sir, badly, very badly."