"Sorry," said Scottie with a mournful expression, pulling out the pawn-ticket, "I've just had to pawn me boots. Can't be done."
Jack grinned. The waster then came sloping over to him.
"Y' axed me mate a civil question just now, lad, an' I'd 'ave answered it for 'im, but I just spotted a racin' pal o' mine an' was onter him ter get a tip he'd promised—a dead cert f' Belmont tomorrer. Y' might ha' seen him lettin' me inter th' know," he breathed. "Hev' a drink, lad!"
"Thanks!" said Jack. "This is my mate.—I'll take the shout, an' one back, an' then we must be off. Going up country tomorrer morning."
This seemed to push the man's mind on quicker.
"Just from up North, aren't ye? Easy place to knock up a cheque. How'd y' like to double a fiver?"
"O.K.," said Tom.
"Well here's a dead cert. Take it from me, and don't let it past yer. I got it from a racin' pal wot's in the know. Not straight for the punters, maybe—but straight as a die f'r me 'n my pals. Double y' money? Not 'arf! Multiply it by ten. 'S a dead cert."
"Name?"
"Not so quick. Not in 'ere. Come outside, 'n I'll whisper it to y'."