“I don't know; he calls himself Old Bill.”
“Well, ye best look out—he looks purty tough. What's he playin' ye fer?”
“He advised me to bet money on Lauzanne.”
“The divil he did! What th' yellow moon does he know about the Chestnut; did ye back him?”
“Not yet.”
“Are ye goin' to?”
“I don't know. Do you think Lauzanne might come in first?”
A slight smile relaxed the habitually drawn muscles of Mike's grim visage; it was moons since he had heard anybody talk of a horse “coming in first;” he was indeed a green bettor, this, young man of the counting house. What was he doing there betting at all, Mike wondered. It must be because of his interest in the girl, his reason answered.
“I tink he'll win if he does his best for her.”
“Does his best for who?”