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He smiled, and for answer pulled out of his pocket a shilling and four coppers.

“I told them that they should have their first lesson in gambling. That I should take their money and they would never see it again.”

“But suppose Nigger wins?”

He laughed.

“There’s about as much likelihood of that as there is of my old car winning a speed trial.”

“But Rodney Marsh thinks he’s got a chance. He told me so the other day.”

“Poor old Rod. He loves that horse more than anything in the world, I think, and he’s so proud of him that he’d probably enter him for the Grand National if he could afford it.”

“But Nigger has won prizes, hasn’t he?”

“Only for jumping. He’s not a young horse. I don’t fancy he can gallop much—and anyhow with Rod’s weight up he doesn’t stand an earthly. This is a new idea of Rodney’s—racing him. He’s trained the horse himself, and imagines Nigger’s done some wonderfully fast gallops. But I think Rod’s stop watch is a bit erratic. Like its owner.”

“Is he erratic?”

“A bit wild. But there’s good solid stuff in the boy if he ever settles down.”

“Perhaps if he marries...”

“Oh, Rod would fight like the devil against marriage. And the only sort of girl who would stand a chance of managing him, would be the sort of girl he’s never likely to meet.”

“Mrs. Bentley’s a widow, isn’t she?”

“He’ll never marry her. That’s more unlikely than Nigger winning the steeplechase today.”