“By the way, there’s Newmarket coming again next week.”
“Yes, sir; got anything on?”
“Well, no, not yet, Orthur; perhaps I may.”
“Do, sir, and I will, too. Mr Roach, sir,” whispered the young man behind his hand, as the butler turned upon him with a look of reproof for his assumption, “Black Pepper, sir.”
“What, my good boy! Why, that horse is at fifty to one.”
“That’s it, sir; and I’m going half-a-crown on him.”
“Better keep it in your pocket, my lad,” said the butler, blandly.
“No, sir; I think not. I’ve got the tip.”
“Eh?” said the butler, eagerly. “Where from?”
“I heered Mr Paddy tell Mr James, sir, that it was a sure thing, and Mr James gave him gold out of his cash-box in the lib’ry—little rolls out of that big tin box of his. I didn’t hear no more, but that was quite enough for me.”