Esther drew the beer, and Old John, who had said nothing till now, suddenly joined in the conversation. He too had heard of something; he didn't know if it was the same as Stack had heard of; he didn't expect it was. It couldn't very well be, 'cause no one knew of this particular horse, not a soul!--not 'alf-a-dozen people in the world. No, he would tell no one until his money and the stable money was all right. And he didn't care for no half-crowns or dollars this time, if he couldn't get a sovereign or two on the horse he'd let it alone. This time he'd be a man or a mouse. Every one was listening intently, but old John suddenly assumed an air of mystery and refused to say another word. The conversation worked back whither it had started, and again the best method of backing horses was passionately discussed. Interrupting someone whose theories seemed intolerably ludicrous, Journeyman said-- "Let's 'ear what's the governor's opinion; he ought to know what kind of backer gets the most out of him." Journeyman's proposal to submit the question to the governor met with very general approval. Even the vagrant who had taken his tankard of porter to the bench where he could drink and eat what fragments of food he had collected, came forward, interested to know what kind of backer got most out of the bookmaker. "Well," said William, "I haven't been making a book as long as some of them, but since you ask me what I think I tell you straight. I don't care a damn whether they backs according to their judgment, or their dreams, or their fancy. The cove that follows favourites, or the cove that backs a jockey's mount, the cove that makes an occasional bet when he hears of a good thing, the cove that bets regular, 'cording to a system--the cove, yer know, what doubles every time--or the cove that bets as the mood takes him--them and all the other coves, too numerous to be mentioned, I'm glad to do business with. I cries out to one as 'eartily as to another: 'The old firm, the old firm, don't forget the old firm.... What can I do for you to-day, sir?' There's but one sort of cove I can't abide." "And he is--" said Journeyman. "He is Mr. George Buff." "Who's he? who's he?" asked several; and the vagrant caused some amusement by the question, "Do 'e bet on the course?" "Yes, he do," said William, "an' nowhere else. He's at every meeting as reg'lar as if he was a bookie himself. I 'ates to see his face.... I'd be a rich man if I'd all the money that man 'as 'ad out of me in the last three years." "What should you say was his system?" asked Mr. Stack. "I don't know no more than yerselves." This admission seemed a little chilling; for everyone had thought himself many steps nearer El Dorado. "But did you ever notice," said Mr. Ketley, "that there was certain days on which he bet?" "No, I never noticed that." "Are they outsiders that he backs?" asked Stack.