"Dat Maid Marian ain't got no license to win dis race—a mile 's too fah fo' her, suah," said the darkey. "Sister Mary 'll win—dat 's who 'll win."
"Naw! naw!" drawled the other. "Senator Irby 'll come purty near gettin' de coin, wid Peytonia fer an outside chance. I see Peytonia work a mighty fast mile yesterday mornin', and I 'm jes' takin' a flyer on her to win today for luck."
I glanced at the nearest blackboard—Peytonia 200 to 1!!!
Would they dare to lay such odds against a horse that had even the slightest chance of winning? It seemed most unlikely, and yet—I hesitated. There must be a possibility, or why was the horse in the race? My sporty-looking friend had said she was fast and had bet upon her himself. Perhaps I had chanced upon some inside information; and, after all, $2 was not a very serious matter whether I won or lost.
I started toward the betting stand, but suddenly stopped short. No, Murray was to make one bet for both of us, and had undoubtedly done what he thought was best—I would abide by his judgment.
But did he know what I knew—where could he be?
The crowd, which was now surging out of the betting ring toward the fence and up into the grand stand, thinned out rapidly; but I held my place, hoping to catch sight of Murray.
"Come on here and make your bets," yelled the book-makers, with whom business had begun to grow slack; "they 're at the post—they 'll be off in a minute."
I accepted the invitation. Rushing up to the nearest stand, I handed up two silver dollars. "Peytonia," I said, with all the nonchalance I could assume.
"Peytonia," repeated the book-maker; "four hundred to two," and in a moment more I was the possessor of a fantastically-colored piece of card-board, on which was scribbled in pencil "Peyt.—400-2."