'He's a stout 'orse, no doubt,--is the 'Eaver,' said Mr
Pook, 'and that's why the betting-men have stuck to him. But he'll
be nowhere on Wednesday. They're beginning to see it now, my Lord.
I wish they wasn't so sharp-sighted.'
In the course of the day, however, they met a gentleman who was of
a different opinion. He said loudly that he looked on the Heaver
as the best three-year-old in England. Of course as matters stood
he wasn't going to back the Heaver with even money;--but he'd take
twenty-five to thirty in hundreds between the two. All this ended
in the bet being accepted and duly booked by Lord Silverbridge.
And in this way Silverbridge added two thousand four hundred
pounds to his responsibilities.
But there was worse than this coming. On the Sunday afternoon he
went down to Doncaster, of course in the company with the Major.
He was alive to the necessity of ridding himself of the Major; but
it had been acknowledged that the duty could not be performed till
after this race had been run. As he sat opposite to his friend on
their journey to Doncaster, he thought of this in the train.
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