Rising Young Jockey (laughing). Oh! "Cat's-meat!" is your cry, is it, WILLIAM? Well, well!
We shall see about that when the winning-post's handy.
Grand Old Jockey. You won't, my brave boy; that a novice could tell.
You'll be left in the ruck at the end, my young dandy,
Rising Young Jockey. Perhaps! Still the pencillers haven't,—as yet—
Quite knocked the nag out with their furious fever
Of hot opposition. Some cool ones still bet
On his chance of a win.
Grand Old Jockey (contemptuously). Ah, you're wonderful clever.
But we have got one in our Stable, my lad,