“I don’t believe it,” said Jane, frowning, but with eyes looking very bright. “You pretend and pretend, and yet all the time you’re sneaking off every chance you get over to Oakland.”
“Well, I do, my lass; I own to that.”
“There,” cried the girl, “and yet you have the impidence to talk to me.”
“Of course, you know why I go.”
“Yes; to see that showy lady’s maid that comes over to our church sometimes.”
“Tchah! I go over to the stables to have a look at La Sylphide. Oh, Jenny, she is a picture now.”
“Look here, Mark; ’pon your word, now, is that the truth?”
“Why, you dear, jealous, little darling, you know it is. Look here, Jenny; she runs to-day for the cup, and, with Josh Rowle up, it’s a certainty.”
“I know better than that, Mark. There’s no certainty in horse-racing.”
“Oh, yes, there is, if you’ve got the right mare and the man up who understands her, as Josh does, when he isn’t on the drink. The guv’nor and Josh Rowle are the only two men who can ride La Sylphide, and I tell you it’s a certainty. I’ve put the pot on this time.”