“Well, I'll tell you somethin'—will you put down a good bet if I steer you straight?”
Mortimer was growing weary; his mind, troubled by the frightful disaster that threatened Allis's family, wanted to draw within itself and ponder deeply over a proper course of action; so he answered: “My dear sir, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I never bet on races. But I thank you for your kind offer.”
The unwashed face looked at him in blank amazement, then it wrinkled in a mirthful laugh of derision. “What d' 'ell you goin' to Gravesend for, den? Blamed if I don't believe you dough—you look it. Say, is dat straight goods—did you never have a bet in your life?”
“Never did.”
“Well, I'm damned! Say, I believe you've got de best of it, dough. Wish I'd never bucked ag'in' de bookies.”
“Why don't you stop it now, then?”
“Say, pard, do you drink?”
“No.”
“Smoke?”
“No.”