“I think book-making would do to begin with,” said Sam, “you have got a good voice and plenty of muscle,” turning to Alec. “I think that’s about your dart.”
“But I know nothing of the business,” replied Alec, despondingly.
“There you go again! Did you think I expected you did? That’s another foolishness folks have got in their head, that you have to understand a thing before you try it. Does the clever miner know where the gold is when he sinks a shaft? Not a bit of it. Does the old hand that knows all the points strike it rich? Not a bit of it. It’s the mug that comes along and does not know pyrites from peas-pudding that hits the patch! I suppose you know a horse from a cow?”
“I should say so!” said Alec.
“Then that’s all you want to know to be a bookmaker. Directly you begin to know one horse from another you commence to be too clever; you are inclined to back your fancy on your own hook, and it’s very soon all up with you.”
“But don’t you have to make a book? Is there not some science or skill in taking the proper bets, or hedging, or something of that kind?”
“There is nothing in it that a baby can’t learn in five minutes. You back the field against the public all the time, and the public all finish by losing their money; you always finish by getting it.”
“But bow much shall I make? Shall I get £20,000?”
“No, I don’t say you will. I only said this was to commence with. You might make a thousand a year. Will that suit till I can put you on a lay for the other?”
Would it suit? A lad who had been earning so far a few shillings a week with the life of a working bullock! Would it suit? Was honey sweet in the mouth; was pleasure better than pain? Alec just closed with the offer right away, and had to get up and shake hands with Soft Sam on the strength of it.