The doctor laughed. “Seize the chance, then, to make a thou’ or two.”
“Impossible.”
“Nonsense! You say yourself the mare’s sure to win.”
“Bar accidents, she must.”
“Then make your game.”
“No; I have no money.”
“Why, you said just now that her ladyship had placed four thou’ to your credit in her bank.”
“For my electioneering exes.”
“Bosh! To use. Put on the pot and make it boil. Why, man, you could clear enough on the strength of that coin lying idle to set you up for a couple of years.”
“Ye-e-es,” said Sir Hilton, who began biting at his nails. “Might, mightn’t I?”