"A-kidding of me!" said the Demon. "When we was a hundred yards from 'ome
I steadied without his noticing me, and then I landed in the last fifty
yards by half a length. Ginger can't ride much better than any other
gentleman."

"Yer see," said Mr. Swindles, "he'd sooner have a box on the ear from the
kitchen-maid than be told a gentleman could kid him at a finish. He
wouldn't mind if it was the Tinman, eh, Demon?"

"We know," said Mr. Leopold, "that Bayleaf can get the mile; there must
have been a lot of weight between them. Besides, I should think that the
trial was at the three-quarters of the mile. The mile was so much kid."

"I should say," replied Mr. Swindles, "that the 'orses were tried at
twenty-one pounds, and if Silver Braid can beat Bayleaf at that weight,
he'll take a deal of beating at Goodwood."

And leaning forward, their arms on the table, with large pieces of cheese
at the end of their knives, the maid-servants and the jockey listened
while Mr. Leopold and Mr. Swindles discussed the chances the stable had of
pulling off the Stewards' Cup with Silver Braid.

"But he will always keep on trying them," said Mr. Swindles, "and what's
the use, says I, of trying 'orses that are no more than 'alf fit? And them
downs is just rotten with 'orse watchers; it has just come to this, that
you can't comb out an 'orse's mane without seeing it in the papers the day
after. If I had my way with them gentry----" Mr. Swindles finished his
beer at a gulp, and he put down his glass as firmly as he desired to put
down the horse watchers. At the end of a long silence Mr. Leopold said--