“Ragged enough, Mr Chifney. And do you mean to say that this animal will be a public favourite?”
“We hope not,” returned the trainer, winking facetiously at his bearded friend; “but—— Shall we tell him what we do hope, Mr Derrick?”
“I'll tell him myself,” quoth the other impulsively, “for you say the young gentleman is safe, and I have taken a sort of unaccountable fancy to him. We hope, and more than that, believe, Captain Lisgard, that that same ragged-hipped horse will Win the Derby!”
“Two hundred to one against Mr Blanquette's Menelaus,” murmured Walter pathetically, as though it were a line from some poem of the affections.
“That's the present quotation,” answered Mr Derrick with a chuckle, and rattling a quantity of loose silver and gold in his breeches' pockets. “Perhaps you would like to lay it in ponies with Mr Chifney and me.”
“No, Mr Derrick; but I should like to thank you very much for letting me into this secret, which, I assure you, shall never pass my lips;” and he held out his hand to the stranger.
“Our way lies together as far as the inn,” returned the other warmly; “we'll liquor—— But there; I forgot I was no longer in Cariboo. I dare say a gentleman like you don't liquor so early in the day.”
“At all events, I will walk with you, my good sir,” answered the captain laughing; and so, forgetting to repeat his request to be permitted to pay his respects to the trainer's wife, he took his departure with his new acquaintance.
“And who is this Monsieur Blanquette?” inquired Walter carelessly as they walked down the village street.
“He was a mate of mine at the gold-diggings in British Columbia, and the only Frenchman as ever I saw there. We did a pretty good stroke of work together; and when we came home, he invested his money in horseflesh, and that there Manylaws was one of his cheapest bargains.”