THE CONSPIRACY. 93 



sion of a discretionary license with " tlie rest " of tlie Bank of 

 England. 



" Your party's taken liberties with this 'oss," resumed Tom 

 Shybird, looking right and left out of the extreme corners of 

 liis eyes, but without turning his head the hundredth part of a 

 barley-corn. " They made sure I couldn't get him fit for the 

 post in time ; and as he came into the market looked iipon him 

 only as a dead 'un to lay against." 



Harry began to blow, but not to -svhistle, " Oh ! dear, what 

 can the matter be 1 Johnny's so long at the fair." 



" You knew the bit of cast steel better than most of 'em," 

 resumed my trainer ; " and upon seeing him pull up yesterday 

 morning, after his iive-mile spin, found the iron too hot to be 

 pleasant for a good many fingers." 



My late attendant blew on, " Oh ! dear, what can the matter 

 be ? " but littered not a syllable in reply. 



"He can win, if run to win," continued Tom Shybird. 

 *' There's not a horse in the race but what he could give seven 

 pounds and a licking." 



" But you can't make sure of his blessed leg standing the 

 Mctroj^olitan course," responded Harry, breaking off in the 

 middle of a bar. " Come, come — you can't do that." 



"But I can, though," rejoined my trainer confidently. 

 " His trial would have broken him down, if the race — make 

 the running as they like — could do it." 



" There may be two opinions concernin' that matter," 

 retorted Harry Dale. " But come, what will ye take to square 

 him ? Let's hear the figgcr ; out with it." 



The reply was not given in my presence ; for with his head 

 bent uj)on his breast, and turning a piece of hay quickly 

 between his lips, Tom Shybird slowly quitted my box with the 

 appearance of one absorbed in thought. Harry Dale followed 

 closely in his footsteps, and forgot, or vras ashamed, to give 

 me even a parting look. The door closed, and I felt the 

 darkness in my heart was becoming deep and deeper stilL 



