I cannot
put in all the expletives, but I may say that the speaker modelled his
style on that of the more eloquent betting men whom he knew.
"I says to him, you'll trot me, will you? Why, go on with you, run and
see your grandmother, and get her to wipe your nose for you. Strike me,
I could sweep the blank chimney with you! You want to get on to me, and
you know my cob can't go more than eleven at the outside. I was kiddin'
him on, do you see? Then I winks at old Sammy, and he says, very solemn,
'It's absurd for you, sir, to talk of trotting this gentleman. The cob's
out of condition, and rough as a badger.' You see I let the cob keep his
winter coat, and he was an object and no error. So this bloke was a fly
flat, don't you know, and I could see he bit. He says, 'I'd like to have
a match with you.' So I tips the office to Sammy, and blanked if he
didn't go and knock in a slice of bloomin' flint a little way between
the shoe and the near fore foot. I says very timid, 'Well, sir, I don't
mind having a try just for a bit of sport, if you'll lay L30 to L20.
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