Darby said hopefully that the thoroughbred might fall.
"Or he might not gallop as fast as he'd think," said Jamesey softly. "Ye'd niver know. Ye'd niver know."
The result of this was that after a good hunt and a kill, Darby took the two men home with him to settle matters.
"We will write it out proper," said Rourke, "so as to be sure."
Darby was familiar with matches. He wrote out that Mr. D. Rooney's That's the Boy, five years, by Barcol Lise, would be matched against Mr. J. Rourke's—here he lifted his pen.
"I have no right name for him," said Jamesey vaguely; "put me little dun horse, sir, five years."
"Dun horse, five years," wrote on Darby, "twenty pounds a side—over a natural course of three miles."
"An' let all have good coats on to keep warm waitin' for Rourke here," sneered Rooney.
"Yerself an' ye're dirty boastin'," returned Rourke, without the animosity which seemed natural.
"Will ye bet me five pounds I'm not in five minnits before ye cross the last fince?" stormed Rooney.