"Od's, and so he can!" cried Jack. "I'll take oath on that."
"I will lay you an hundred guineas, my Lord," says his Grace, very off-hand, "that Mr. Carvel does not sit Baltimore's Pollux above twenty minutes."
"Done!" says Jack, before I could draw breath.
"I'll take your Grace for another hundred," calmly added Mr. Fox.
"It seems to me, your Grace," I cried, angry all at once, "it seems to me that I am the one to whom you should address your wagers. I am not a jockey, to be put up at your whim, and to give you the chance to lose money."
Chartersea swung around my way.
"Your pardon, Mr. Carvel," said he, very coolly, very politely; "yours is the choice of the wager. And you reject it, the others must be called off."
"Slife! I double it!" I said hotly, "provided the horse is alive, and will stand up."
"Devilish well put, Richard!" Mr. Fox exclaimed, casting off his restraint.
"I give you my word the horse is alive, sir," he answered, with a mock bow; "'twas only yesterday that he killed his groom, at Hampstead."