He spoke to Hector, asking him what he knew about Tearaway.
"Not much," he replied. "I fancy her, that's all; she's a very good looking filly."
"But you must have some line to go upon. Perhaps she has won a good trial?"
"I am not likely to know that," said Hector.
"Be fair with me, Rolfe. Is she worth a tenner or two?"
"Please yourself. I don't see how she can beat the favorite, or Bronze; but she might—there's no telling," and he walked on.
"Hang him, I believe he knows something about her and he won't enlighten me. He can keep it to himself. If she wins I'll pay him out in some way or other," muttered Fletcher.
Brack had never been in Tattersalls before. The noise, the crush, the yelling of odds, the struggle to get money on, amazed him. He wondered if all the people had suddenly gone mad. He had five pounds in his hands, he knew enough about betting to know what to do.
"What are you layin' Tearaway?" he asked a man on the rails.
The bookmaker looked at him and smiled.