"I will never bet on a horse again," said Jack, ruminating on his loss. "Why should I? I know nothing about racing, and never could understand odds in my life; and just at this moment, too, I can't spare the coin."
At the same time he did not spare the whip; for you will always observe, that a meditative gentleman in a gig is peculiarly impressive on his horse's shoulder. The grey trotted along, or burst into an occasional canter.
"I'll back this grey against Cotherstone for fifty pounds."
"To stand flogging? I think you would win."
"No, to jump. See how she springs."
Hereupon Jack touched the mare in a very scientific manner, just under the fore-arm, and the animal, indignant at this disrespectful manner of proceeding, gave a prodigious rush forward, and then reared.
"You'll break the shafts," I said.
"I think she is going to run away, but there seems no wall near us—and I don't think any coaches travel this road. Sit still, for she's off."
The mare, in good truth, resented her master's conduct in a high degree, and took the bit in her teeth.
"If she doesn't kick, it's all right," said Jack.