Mr. Leopold nodded, and told the Demon to leave off blubbering. "You can't
be so much hurt as all that. Come, wipe your eyes and have a piece of
currant tart, or leave the room. I want to hear from Mr. Swindles an
account of the trial. We know that Silver Braid won, but we haven't heard
how he won nor yet what the weights were."

"Well," said Mr. Swindles, "what I makes out is this. I was riding within
a pound or two of nine stone, and The Rake is, as you know, seven pounds,
no more, worse than Bayleaf. Ginger rides usually as near as possible my
weight--we'll say he was riding nine two--I think he could manage
that--and the Demon, we know, he is now riding over the six stone; in his
ordinary clothes he rides six seven."

"Yes, yes, but how do we know that there was any lead to speak of in the
Demon's saddle-cloth?"

"The Demon says there wasn't above a stone. Don't you, Demon?"

"I don't know nothing! I'm not going to stand being clouted by the
kitchen-maid."

"Oh, shut up, or leave the room," said Mr. Leopold; "we don't want to hear
any more about that."

"I started making the running according to orders. Ginger was within
three-quarters of a length of me, being pulled out of the saddle. The
Gaffer was standing at the three-quarters of the mile, and there Ginger
won fairly easily, but they went on to the mile--them were the orders--and
there the Demon won by half a length, that is to say if Ginger wasn't
a-kidding of him."