Swathed in her light wrapper, the little creature shuffled swiftly down the gangway behind the line of sleeping horses, her pumps, too big for her bare feet, clacking on the pavement. He followed her heavily, his eyes brimming laughter and delight. A few minutes later Silver joined Monkey Brand in the loose-box. "Good little try-on, sir," said the jockey busily. "Funny smelling stuff though." Removing a rug, he produced a bucket hidden beneath and held it to the other's nose. "Chuck it down the drain," said the young man. "'Alf a mo, sir," protested Monkey Brand. "Let me fill me bottle first." He looked up at the young man with extraordinary cunning. "Ever know'd a monkey get squiffy?" he asked confidentially. "No. Nor me neever." CHAPTER XLIV Monkey Brand Gets the Sack Joses was lying on his bed in the gray of dawn, looking curiously livid, when somebody whistled beneath his window. He rose and looked out. Monkey was standing morosely in the garden underneath. The fat man beckoned him in, and returned to his bed. The little jockey entered. He was dark, sullen, dangerous. "Well?" said the tout, lying in disarray upon the bed. "I thought you'd done a get-away," said Monkey surlily. "I've been queer," answered the other. "Has the stuff worked?" "Worked!" cried the jockey, with smothered fury. "It's worked _my_ trick all right. Never touched the 'orse. Run through him like so much water. The chemist who made up that stuff doped you and not the 'orse--and done me." "What they done to you?" "Took the cash off me, and give me the ---- boot instead." The tout considered. "He's fit, is he?" "Fit?" snorted the little man. "He's throwin' back-somersaults in his box. That's all." "When do they box him for Liverpool?" "Twelve-fifteen train." Joses gathered himself with difficulty. "See here, Brand," he said. "Are you straight?" "Straight!" shouted Monkey. "Would I ha' sold the guv'nor I serve for twenty year if I wasn't straight." The fat man pulled on his boots. "Never say die till you're dead," he said. "We must go north, too. There's the last card and we must play it." * * * * * Nobody but those immediately concerned were at Polefax station to see the local National horse boxed for Liverpool. Albert was there, and Boy, her collar about her ears, and Billy Bluff looking unusually dejected. Old Mat, it was remarked by the porters, was not present; and Monkey Brand, it was also remarked, though at the station, took no part in the proceedings, huddling over the fire in the waiting-room, a desolate little figure of woe. As the young horse entered his box at a siding, the train from Brighton came into the station. Silver stepped out of it, a cloak over his arm. He did not join the little group busy about the box, but made for the solitary figure watching from the far end of the platform. "Your cloak, Mr. Joses," he said pleasantly.