Ketley, Journeyman, Stack, and the others listened eagerly. To meet the celebrated gentleman-rider was a great event in their lives. But the conversation was confined to the Barfield horses; it was carried on by the merest allusion, and Journeyman wearied of it. He said he must be getting home; the others nodded, finished their glasses, and bade William good-night as they left. A couple of flower-girls with loose hair, shawls, and trays of flowers, suggestive of streetfaring, came in and ordered four ale. They spoke to the vagrant, who collected his match-boxes in preparation for a last search for charity. William cut the wires of the champagne, and at that moment Charles, who had gone through with the ladder to turn out the street lamp, returned with a light overcoat on his arm which he said a cove outside wanted to sell him for two-and-six. "Do you know him?" said William. "Yes, I knowed him. I had to put him out the other night--Bill Evans, the cove that wears the blue Melton." The swing doors were opened, and a man between thirty and forty came in. He was about the medium height; a dark olive skin, black curly hair, picturesque and disreputable, like a bird of prey in his blue Melton jacket and billycock hat. "You'd better 'ave the coat," he said; "you won't better it;" and coming into the bar he planked down a penny as if it were a sovereign. "Glass of porter; nice warm weather, good for the 'arvest. Just come up from the country--a bit dusty, ain't I?" "Ain't you the chap," said William, "what laid Mr. Ketley six 'alf-crowns to one against Cross Roads?" Charles nodded, and William continued-- "I like your cheek coming into my bar." "No harm done, gov'nor; no one was about; wouldn't 'ave done it if they had." "That'll do," said William. "... No, he don't want the coat. We likes to know where our things comes from." Bill Evans finished his glass. "Good-night, guv'nor; no ill-feeling." The flower-girls laughed; one offered him a flower. "Take it for love," she said. He was kind enough to do so, and the three went out together. "I don't like the looks of that chap," said William, and he let go the champagne cork. "Yer health, sir." They raised their glasses, and the conversation turned on next week's racing. "I dun know about next week's events," said old John, "but I've heard of something for the Leger--an outsider will win." "Have you backed it?" "I would if I had the money, but things have been going very unlucky with me lately. But I'd advise you, sir, to have a trifle on. It's the best tip I 'ave had in my life." "Really!" said Ginger, beginning to feel interested, "so I will, and so shall you. I'm damned if you shan't have your bit on. Come, what is it? William will lay the odds. What is it?" "Briar Rose, the White House stable, sir." "Why, I thought that--" "No such thing, sir; Briar Rose's the one." Ginger took up the paper. "Twenty-five to one Briar Rose taken." "You see, sir, it was taken."