Mr Gideon felt sure that Crotty would go on a little more, but something told him that he had better wait a bit. “I will see Nat first,” he said to himself; and he left the club, followed by the inquiring glances of most of the men who were present, for the bet he had made was a large one and excited a good deal of interest.
When Mr Gideon left the club he got into a Cape cart, and was driven to an hotel near some stables, on the outskirts of the camp.
An undersized man, with a look of Newmarket about him, which South Africa had not erased, who was sitting in the bar of the hotel, got up and went out when Mr Gideon touched him on the shoulder. Mr Gideon told him what he had done at the club, and the little man received his news with a long whistle.
“You’re so clever, ain’t you?” he said, as he eyed Mr Gideon with unconcealed scorn. “You don’t look like a blessed infant with that nose on you, but blessed if you don’t be’ave like one.”
“You ought to remember your proper place more,” said Mr Gideon, “and let me tell you something you don’t know. See here,” and he produced a telegram, “Our Boy has broken down.”
“And don’t you think Crotty knew that? Why, I heard it just now,” answered the little man, “and a lot it matters; Kildare will win these stakes.”
“He is no good; and he is lame.”
“Lame? A party as knows what he sees saw him striding along at Buffelsfontein, where Captain Brereton has him as sound as a bell.”
“But my horse can beat Kildare,” said Gideon.
“Not weight for age he couldn’t, if what I hears is true. Only just now I got a letter from home about him, from a pal of mine. Fit and well, he is the best horse that ever came to this country, and fit and well he is. And your horse don’t meet him weight for age, you give him seven pounds; those precious stewards seem to have forgotten all about him,” answered Nat.