“Make it eight, then,” said the “Old King.” “And we'll bring it off on Monday. We're thrashing that day, but the more the merrier.”
“There's jest one thing,” interposed Ben, “an' that is, the boys mustn't know about this.”
“Why not?” said Alec. “They're dead game.”
“Oh, Dick'd jump at it quick enough, but Barney wouldn't let 'im risk it. He's right careful of that boy.”
After full discussion next Sabbath morning by those who were loitering, after their custom, in the churchyard waiting for the service to begin, it was generally agreed that the “Old King” with his usual shrewdness had “put his money on the winning horse.” Even Alec Murray, though he kept a bold face, confided to his bosom friend, Rory Ross, that he “guessed his cake was dough, though they would make a pretty big stagger at it.”
“If Dick only had Barney's weight,” said Rory, “they would stand a better chance.”
“Yes. But Dick tires quicker. An' he'll die before he drops.”
“But ten acres, Alec! And there's more than ten acres in that field.”
“I know. But it's standing nice, an' it's lighter on the knoll in the centre. If I can only get them goin' their best clip—I'll have to work it some way. I'll have to get Barney moving. Dick's such an ambitious little beggar he'd follow till he bust. The first thing,” continued Alec, “is to get them a good early start. I'll have a talk with Ben.”
As a result of his conversation with Ben it was hardly daylight on Monday morning when Mrs. Boyle, glancing at her clock, sprang at once from her bed and called her sons.