Then, for the third time, the jovial Captain—he was as fresh as a two-year-old—said, "This is a bad business."
And still, clear-headed as he now was, Jeremiah did not know what to say in answer to a very plain statement of fact.
"Let me see," said Captain Ablewhite, taking out his pocket-book. "There is nothing like looking a difficulty straight in the face. It is not a bit of good shirking it. What you've got to do is to meet it—and, Mr. Jeremiah Pamflett, meet it you must. Now, then, for the facts. You brought down with you to Doncaster a very comfortable sum of ready money. How much?"
"Two thousand pounds," replied Jeremiah.
"That is right. Speak clearly and plainly. Two thousand pounds. If I had that in my pocket at the present moment, I would double it before the day is over. There's a race to be run—however, let that pass."
"What race?" cried Jeremiah. "Is it a certainty?"
"It is a certainty," said Captain Ablewhite, solemnly. "I've got the tip for the Scurry Stakes, my lad, and the horse can't lose."
"But why not give it to me?" asked Jeremiah, in great excitement. "I could make everything right—everything—everything...." His voice trailed off into a whimper.
"Why don't I give it to you?" said Captain Ablewhite, very calmly. "Because I am beginning to lose my opinion of you. Let me tell you, though: you may justify it yet if you are not thoroughly white-livered."
"I will, I will!" exclaimed Jeremiah. "Only give me the tip—give me the tip!"