“O dom it, if it’s come to that, I may as well have the ten,” muttered Sir Moses to himself. So, nodding to Gallon, he said “I’ll make it ten.”
“Done!” said Gallon, with a nod, and the bet was made—Done, and Done, being enough between gentlemen.
“Now, then,” cried Sir Moses, stepping down from his dogcart, “come into the field, and I’ll start you.”
Away then the combatants went, and the betting became brisk in the ring. Mr. Flintoff the favourite at evens.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE RACE ITSELF.
