"Eight thousand guineas!" said the Captain, yawning. "Steepish, b'gad, steepish! Eight thousand at ten to one—hum! Now, if Fortune should happen to smile on me to-day—by mistake, of course—still, if she does, I shall clear enough to win free of Gaunt's claws for good and all, b'gad!"
"Then I shall be devilish sorry to have to beat you, Sling, my boy!" drawled the Marquis, "yes, doocid sorry,—still—"
"Eh—what? Beat the 'Rascal,' Jerny? Not on your weedy 'Clinker,' b'gad—"
"Oh, but dooce take me, Sling, you'd never say the 'Rascal' was the better horse? Why, in the first place, there's too much daylight under him for your weight—besides—"
"But, my dear Jerny, you must admit that your 'Clinker' 's inclined to be just—a le-e-etle cow-hocked, come now, b'gad?"
"And then—as I've often remarked, my dear Sling, the 'Rascal' is too long in the pasterns, not to mention—"
"B'gad! give me a horse with good bellows,—round, d' ye see, well ribbed home—"
"My dear Sling, if you could manage to get your 'Rascal' four new legs, deeper shoulders, and, say, fuller haunches, he might possibly stand a chance. As it is, Sling, my boy, I commiserate you—but hallo! Devenham, what's wrong? You look a little off color."
"Well, for one thing, I want my breakfast," answered the Viscount.
"So do I!" cried the Captain, springing to his feet, "but, b'gad,
Dick, you do look a bit palish round the gills, y' know."