At first a very little only is done in a narrow field; by-and-by, however, operations are extended, and on a given day the whole country is worked—Manchester, Dublin, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Glasgow; every town, in short, where a few ten-pound notes can be got on is communicated with through the agents of Job Goodchild, and before the majority of the bookmakers awake to the fact a heavy commission has been executed, and the party stand to win, some thirteen days before the race, a rough sum of over £45,000! On the Saturday previous to the Wednesday on which the race falls to be run, a second trial takes place, Diddle-em is borrowed, as well as another horse which had recently won a biggish handicap; Burglar also takes part in the trial. It is a near thing, as some would have thought had they seen it. Conspirator seeming to have quite enough to do to beat Diddle-em; but then, as Conspirator was carrying an additional 10 lb. of weight, it really was, as Sweatmore said, a case of "real jam."
"There's nought else in the race, as I'm a living sinner," said the trainer; "he'll win easy, see if he doesn't."
And so in the end it proves. "Conspirator jumped off with the lead, made all his own running, and before he had covered a mile had all the others beaten," so wrote one of the journalists who chronicled the race ("won by three lengths," was the verdict of the judge); brother to Agrippa, second; Virginia, third; Burglar broke down, and Diddle-em walked in with the crowd. Sixteen ran.
So ended this well-planned coup.
IV.
That is one way of "working the oracle" in order to bring off a remunerative handicap coup, and many lords and gentlemen of the turf do not disdain to follow so good (or bad) an example. If, for instance. Sir Richard Strongman, Lord Strapmore, and the Honourable Thomas Rowbotham have each entered three or four of their horses in an important handicap, what is more natural, on the turf, than that they should lay their heads together to "best" the public, and pull off a good thing at long odds for themselves? The obtaining of "long odds" has a great fascination for everybody. To win a large sum at little risk is a grand desideratum in the racing world as elsewhere. It is difficult nowadays, however, to obtain what are called long odds. Bookmakers are chary on this point, and the public, who keep no horses of their own but are quick to back the horses of other people, rush in when the betting begins on any particular race and secure the cream, leaving the skimmed milk to those who have to pay the training bills.
In order, then, to do the best they can for themselves, the three gentlemen named above resolve to call to their aid a well-known turf commissioner, one Mr. Dudley Smooth. That gentleman, who is the hero of a hundred "arrangements," takes the case in hand. He is well known on the turf and hates verbosity, but he thinks a great deal, if he says little; his leading idea is, "Only one can win, you know; how to get at it is the problem."
What usually takes place when Mr. Smooth has been prevailed upon to put a finger in the pie—he is, however, rather chary of doing so—is first of all a consultation over a chop and a bottle—champagne, of course. The number of stables represented in the handicap and the horses entered are considered, and those known or thought to have no chance are summarily scored out of the list. Each trainer and owner of the stables containing likely horses are well weighed up, considered, and intelligently discussed, after which it will probably be found that, leaving out the owners present and half-a-dozen others they will be able to influence, four stables would be seen to have a really good chance, whilst other three might possess something decidedly dangerous.
"What we want, you know, Smooth, is a certainty."