86 STABLE SECRETS. 



tering away easily from the small probable list of starters, and 

 winning, if thought advisable, in that gentlest of all paces, 

 known as a walk. 



" What's to beat him ? " inquired a small, light-Hgured man, 

 dressed in a long pepper-and-salt coat, billy-cock hat, and a 

 cravat of very loud colours. " What's to beat him 1 " repeated 

 he, engaged in sucking the end of a silver-mounted, straight- 

 cutting whip. 



" Nothing," replied a member of the ring, who had formerly 

 introduced himself to Robert Top's best lad as " Job Sweety." 



" Bar accident," rejoined the proprietor of the whip, still 

 sucking the silver knob, " and there's nothing to make the 

 show of a race with him." 



Now, be it known that these remarks were — as may readily 

 be conjectured — anent the colt by Glitter, dam Comet, by Fall- 

 ing Star, and that they were made and delivered on that 

 identical spot of Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria's 

 dominions known as the Heath at Newmarket, at the precise 

 moment when Puffy Doddles, in the weighing room, was turn- 

 ing the beam for the requisite weight to be carried in the Grand 

 Duke Michael Stakes. 



" They've laid ten to one on him," said Job Sweety, refer- 

 ring to a row of entries in his betting book. 



" It's any odds on him," returned the possessor of the whip. 

 " Bar accident." 



" Or bar something else," deliberately interposed Job 



Sweety. 



He of the whip — still sucking the end of the silver-mounted 

 handle — glanced furtively at Job Sweety's dark, closely-set eyes, 

 bearing the impression of a hawk with a good appetite, and 

 about to make a fell swoop upon a brood of newly-fledged 

 ducklings. 



" I say," added Job Sweety, keeping his gaze fixed upon a 

 page of the betting book, " or bar something else." 



" You don't mean " 



