A Short Head 105 



' Well, if it's good enough for you to back, it's good 

 enough for me,' the other answered ; and turning at 

 once to a friend by his side, Beauclerk began — ' I say, I 

 hear High Street's sure to beat Bowsprit. I thought 



from what Weymouth said ' Clifton, walking away, 



heard no more. ' Talkative little ass ! ' he muttered. 

 ' He and his friends will go dashing on High Street, and 

 there may be a chance of backing the other at something 

 like a reasonable price. A fool is useful sometimes.' 



Bowsprit, a handsome bay colt, looked, as was 

 generally admitted, a perfect picture, though Clifton 

 could not help admitting that High Street was a hand- 

 some, racing-like mare. As he passed the telegraph board 

 outside the dining-room, he saw a couple of messages 

 for him. ' 350 to 200 on. No more same price,' one 

 ran. ' Had to lay 400 to 200,' was the other ; and now 

 the numbers were up for the Maiden Plate, and the ring 

 were offering to ' take 5 to 2, 4 to 1 bar one,' at which latter 

 price High Street was backed to an extent that reduced 

 the odds on the favourite — Bowsprit, needless to say — to 



2 to 1 on, 75 to 40, 15 to 8, and such like sums, which, 

 however, were laid with an avidity that sent him up to 



3 to 1 on before the first break- away. 



Clifton looked at his book. He had altogether laid 

 2,100L to 1,250L, he found, for he had been obliged to bet 

 quietly, taking care that no one who was likely to talk 

 to Weymouth — and one never knows who is behind one 

 on a racecourse - saw him helping himself. He might 

 admit having two or three hundred on, but it was not 

 his game to let Weymouth suppose that he had plunged, 

 though according to the plot he had laid he was not 

 supi')osed to know that Weymouth had not received his 

 letter hours before and set someone else to do the com- 



