When the weights were published for the Sydney Cup, Alec Booth rushed with the paper at full tilt to Soft Sam—
“What do you think of it? Is it good enough? Look, she’s almost at the bottom of the list!”
Soft Sam was in no hurry to answer. He read over the names of the horses nominated carefully, paused awhile, and then said—
“It’s as good as you could hope. You must accept, of course, and you may send her for it when you know better what you have to run against.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Sam. She’s pounds better than anything on the list.”
“Of the horses you know, yes; but you don’t suppose you are the only owner who has nursed his mount? There may be half-a-dozen in that list as good as Bertha, and as lightly weighted. She’s no horse of a century, remember; only a second-rater, and only valuable while she is thought to be a third or fourth-rater. Take it easy, my lad, and don’t put the money in your pocket till the cheque is cashed.”
Alec’s enthusiasm was considerably damped by these reflections; but he was confident all the same, and anxiously waited to know the acceptances.
More leisurely in his movements, Huey also called on the old man for his opinion as to his own prospects, for it was a curious feature of the quarrel of these two young men, that both confided in Soft Sam, and to both he was equally impartial—keeping the secrets of each from the other, and declining to join either party in the feud.
“The Vengeance is well treated—the same weight as Bertha—and it should, bar accidents, be a match for the pair of them; and you are a couple of fools, I say so again, as I said before, to cut each other’s throats. You’ll end by making a mess of it, the pair of you. Why not save The Vengeance for another race—there are plenty of them—and not give him away on the off-chance of being first, when later on you might make a certainty of it? And I tell you what’s more, if she wasn’t a mare I’d back Bertha to beat your black horse any three times out of five. He is a good ’un, I allow; but, mark my words, she’s a fair demon if she takes the fancy to come in first. Don’t be a fool; think it over. Money’s the thing; damn sentiment!”
Huey said he would think it over, but after he had gone the old man shook his head.