"Who lost it?" inquired Jeremiah.
"The book-maker," said Captain Ablewhite, laughing. "A bad race for him. So was the first one. Both the favourites have won. He'll get his money back, with interest, before the day's out. You won a few sovs. last night; put three or four on Praxis for the next race; a sure thing. The starters are being called out."
The man at the tape gave the names of the horses as they went up on the board a hundred miles away. There were eleven, Praxis being among them.
"Butterfly's favourite," said Captain Ablewhite, "and won't win."
The betting on the third race began. How much this?—how much that?—how much t'other? What's Butterfly's price? Evens. Done for a hundred. I'll take an even fifty. A pony for me. Five to two, Anonyma. Eights, Geranium. Eight ponies? All right. Praxis, twenties.
Not one backed the horse recommended by Captain Ablewhite. Jeremiah screwed up his courage.
"Can I bet a sovereign?" he whispered to the Captain.
"Certainly. Take my advice; make it five."
"No. Two."
"Very well. Forty to two."