“A prohibitive price—for you.” said Drake.
“Nonsense! I'm going to do a flutter on my own, you know, and plunge against you.”
It was explained to her that only bookmakers bet against horses, but the gentleman with the beard volunteered to reverse positions, and take Glory's ten to one against Ellan Vannin.
“In what?”
“Oh—h'm—in thick 'uns, of course.”
“But what is the meaning of this running after strange gods?” said Drake.
“Never mind, sir! Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, you know——” and then the bell rang for the race of the day, and they scurried back to the Stand. The numbers were going up and a line of fifty policemen abreast were clearing the course. Some of the party had come over from the coach, and Lord Robert was jotting down in a notebook the particulars of betting commissions for his fair companions.
“And am I to be honoured with a commission from the Hurricane?” he asked.
“Yes; what's the price for Ellan Vannin?”
“Come down to five to one, pretty lady.”