"Lay you eleven to three," bawled another.
Indeed, there was quite a chorus of offers. Mr. Major was indifferent to all of them.
"What price will you give me, Jacobs?"
"King Bruce?" The leviathan regarded Mr. Major with a curious glance. "Well, Mr. Major, I'll give you eleven to three."
"Put me on eighteen hundred pounds."
There was a slight pause of astonishment.
"Who is he?" Mr. Major heard someone behind him ask.
"Another Juggins!"
The response was at least as audible as the inquiry had been. There was a laugh. Even Mr. Jacobs seemed amused.
"Eighteen hundred pounds, eleven to three, King Bruce, Mr. Major. Give Mr. Major his ticket, Mr. Blades."
"Look out, Jacobs," shouted a voice, "the young gent means having you."
There was another laugh at this. Mr. Major, serenely indifferent, walked away with Mr. Jacobs' ticket in his pocket
"Kyard, sir! Krect kyard, sir."
Someone thrust something beneath his nose. Then, for the first time, Mr. Major became conscious that he was without that convenience—especially for a novice—a programme of the day. He purchased a card. He found that for the Windsor Stakes there were five runners. King Bruce's colours were light blue. He picked them out when the horses were making ready for starting. As the animals tore past it seemed to him that the one with the light blue
