“Pull her! Who talked of pullin’? She’ll run a bye, that’s all. We shan’t ever know whether she could ’a won or not.”
‘Jimmy’ sat silent; the situation was such as his life during sixteen years had waited for. They stood to win both ways with a bit of handling.
“Who’s to ride?” he said.
“Polman’s got a call on Docker. He can just ride the weight. Either way he’s good for us—strong finisher and a rare judge of distance; knows how to time things to a T. Win or not, he’s our man.”
‘Jimmy’ was deep in figures. Laying-off at sevens, they would still win four thousand and the stakes.
“I’d like a win,” he said.
“Ah!” said Pulcher. “But there’ll be twenty in the field, my son; no more uncertain race than that bally Cambridgeshire. We could pick up a thou. as easy as I pick up this pot. Bird in the ’and, Jimmy, and a good ’andicap in the bush. If she wins, she’s finished. Well, we’ll put this trial about and see ’ow Jenning pops.”
Jenning popped amazingly. Diamond Stud receded a point, then re-established himself at nine to two. Jenning was clearly not dismayed.
George Pulcher shook his head and waited, uncertain still which way to jump. Ironical circumstance decided him.