"The old Tinker? No earthly, Ramp, been off his feed the last two days."
"Don't shout it to the Mess, hang it, man," said his patron, frowning at him.
"Sorry, Tabby, but we're all pals here, these fellows won't give it away, I know, especially if they want to back Grandee, and, if they take my tip, they will."
"Of course not," from all, and "Thank ye, Jackie. I'll bear it in mind," from Major Ramp, who, knowing the pair, made a mental note to leave that particular race alone.
"Matador's a certainty for your race, I suppose, Bob?" said Captain Brass.
"Moral, if he stands up, and he's never fallen yet. Got a pot on him, advise you fellows to do the same."
"Who's riding him, Bob?"
"Having a go myself. Must be one of the regiment, you know, which gives me rather a pull; give most of 'em seven pounds at least."
"I see old Cyclops is running, Bob; queer old devil, used to belong to us till Stainforth sold him to Carson. New game for him, racing, though, ain't it?"
O'Hagan looked round the room before answering. Strangely enough, he was frightened of Carson, though not in the least of Graeme. Seeing no sign of Peter, however, he replied boldly: