"What price Ballet Girl?"
It was odd, after the previous tumult, to notice the silence with which Mr. Major's words were greeted—the completer silence still which followed them. No one made a price.
"You're surely not afraid of one man? What, all the lot of you?"
"Dash me!" roared Mr. Jacobs. "No man shall say that I'm afraid of him—not if I have to go into the workhouse to-morrow. I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. Major. I'll give you the chance to make the biggest bet that was ever made in England. You've got over a hundred and fifty thousand pounds there, and by ! most of it's mine. If you like to put the lot of it on Ballet Girl, at five to one on, I'll take you."
"Five to one on?" shouted the crowd.
"Five to one on!" vociferated Mr. Jacobs. "And that's an offer which I doubt if any other man upon this course will make you."
It was not a tempting offer, but Mr. Major took it.
"You're a very foolish man, sir," said Mr. Wilmot, who was standing at his elbow.
"Why? I know the horse will win."
"You may know, but I don't, and you've spoilt the market for other men."
The start was a long time coming. While they waited for it there was considerable excitement on the top of the drag.
"Mr. Major," said Miss Davidson, "I do hope that mysterious friend of yours is right again. It will be a dreadful thing if Ballet Girl should fail us. We are all of us on her to a man."
