"Well," replied Mr. Verdant Green—as people often do when they are speaking of something that is not at all well, but bad—"something like it. He told me that he had a friend who had been kind enough to tell him, quite in confidence, which horse is to win the Derby. It is not the favourite; but it is a horse that, at present, is not much talked about. He said it was a dark horse; but whether a black or a brown, I don't know."
Little Mr. Bouncer involuntarily winked his eye, and smiled, as though he would direct an imaginary companion's attention, and say, "Oh, here 's a go!" but his Freshman friend was too much engaged in his narrative to notice the action.
"And Blucher Boots' friend," continued Verdant, "has kept his eye on the horse for a long time, and has seen him tried on a private course, and is in a particular position to obtain correct information on the subject. And Blucher Boots himself has seen this dark horse, whose name I may tell you—but of course, in the strictest confidence."
"Of course! the very strictest of the strict, Giglamps! I 'll be as dark as the horse."
"His name is 'The Knight.'"
"That Knight ought to be ridden by Day, ought n't he? Oh, Day and Knight, but this is wondrous strange! as Shikspur says." And the countenance of little Mr. Bouncer, as he watched Mr. Verdant Green, was quite a study.
"And," continued that innocent gentleman, "Blucher Boots, to use his own expression; is sweet upon The Knight, and is firmly convinced that no other horse, not even the favourite, has the slightest chance to win the race from him. So that he is going to support him to
