CHAPTER XIX
CONFIDENTIAL CRITICISM.
As the runners came nearer, Frank lowered the glasses and watched them with the naked eye.
“Yes,” he murmured, “I’m afraid Prince will tie up in a long run. He is inclined to carry his chin a bit too high.”
“We are placing a great deal of reliance in him,” said Proctor, as if a bit vexed by Merry’s criticism. “Hollingsworth has chosen him as a leader to work out the bunch.”
“Who is that second fellow—the one with the mop of light hair?”
“That’s Tom Bramwell.”
“His form is better than that of Prince; but he hasn’t the range, and I’m afraid he’s a bit too heavy.”
“Oh, Bramwell never did anything brilliant in his life. Nobody counts on him.”
“He’s just the man who’s liable to surprise everybody in a match of this sort. There is a pretty runner to the left of him—the slender little chap.”