"And do you suppose he will?" sneered Bellshaw.
"Yes, if he gives me his word," replied Nick.
"You're blessed with an uncommon amount of faith," said Bellshaw.
"And you've got none, not even in yourself. If you'd any pluck you'd not squeal because Barellan's gone lame. He may pull round. Hadwin's a clever man with dicky horses."
"He's an ass or he'd not have galloped the horse to a standstill. I told him he was giving him too much work."
"I'm more sorry for him than you," said the bookmaker.
Bellshaw laughed cynically, ignored the remark and asked, "Who's your sick friend at the Federal?"
"Jerry Makeshift, of 'The Sketch,' one of the best, the very best, a jewel with only one flaw in it."
"A gem of the first water, with whiskey in it," jeered Bellshaw.
"And supposing he is? That's better than being a grinding, snarling, miserable money-grubber," retorted Nick.