"He's had a long rest, and they say he is sounder than ever he was since he won the Great Ebor. They don't say he'd stand no galloping, but they don't want to gallop him more than's absolutely necessary on account of the suspensory ligament; it ain't the back sinew, but the suspensory ligament. Their theory is this, that it don't so much matter about bringing him quite fit to the post, for he's sure to stay the course; he'd do that three times over. What they say is this, that if he gets in with seven stone, and we brings him well and three parts trained, there ain't no 'orse in England that can stand up before him. They've got another in the race, Laurel Leaf, to make the running for him; it can't be too strong for old Ben. You say to yourself that he may get let off with six-seven. If he do there'll be tons of money on him. He'll be backed at the post at five to one. Before the weights come out they'll lay a hundred to one on the field in any of the big clubs. I wouldn't mind putting a quid on him if you'll join me."
"Better wait until the weights come out," said Journeyman, "for if it happened to come to Courtney's ears that old Ben could be trained he'd clap seven-ten on him without a moment's hesitation."
"You think so?" said Stack.
"I do," said Journeyman.
"But you agree with me that if he got let off with anything less than seven stone, and be brought fit, or thereabouts, to the post, that the race is a moral certainty for him?"
"A thousand to a brass farthing."
"Mind, not a word."
"Is it likely?"
The conversation paused a moment, and Journeyman said, "You've not seen my 'andicap for the Cambridgeshire. I wonder what you'd think of that?" Stack said he would be glad to see it another time, and suggested that they go downstairs.
"I'm afraid the police is in," said Stack, when he opened the door.