“Of course. Why, you would be mad to miss the chance.”
“It does sound tempting.”
“Tempting? Of course. It isn’t as if there was any gambling in it.”
“Exactly. There would be no gambling in it?”
“Of course not. If it were some horse whose character you did not know, it would be different. But here you are—your own mare, whom you know down to the ground. Your own jockey, too. Look here, dear boy, La Sylphide can’t help winning. You’d be mad to miss this chance. I should say, go and see the run, but I give way to your scruples there; but when I see you chucking away a pile of money I begin to kick.”
Sir Hilton rose and walked up and down the room, as his old friend and companion continued talking, and ended by coming back to the table and bringing down his fist with a bang.
“Yes,” he cried, “it would be madness to miss the chance. By Jove! I’ll do it.”
“Bravo, old man!”
“I’ll put it in your hands, Jack. Get on for me all you can.”
“Up to what?”