"So you stood to win five thousand four hundred and to lose nothing," said Alfred rapidly, having been looking out for another opportunity to exhibit his prowess in mental arithmetic.
"What wonderful calculation!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake in admiration, to Alfred's intense delight. "You could make a fortune in the ring."
"Do you think so? I think I could."
"I'd give a thousand pounds this minute to be able to reckon up figures as you can."
"You make plenty, though, without that."
"I only do what any man can do, if he keeps his head cool. Did you back anything for the Derby?"
"Yes, worse luck," replied Alfred, with a groan, emptying his glass to wash down a rising remorse. "I wish I had known you then. You might have told me to back the Zephyr colt. You would, wouldn't you?"
"That I would, for your pretty sister's sake. I wish we had known each other then! What did you back?"
"Three horses--Bothwell, King of the Forest, and Digby Grand. Everybody said Bothwell was sure to win, and that's why I backed it, although I didn't fancy it."
"It's a bad thing to back three horses; never back more than one, and stand to it to win a good stake."