"No, sir; no, Mr. Con," in querulously indignant tones, and with a vain endeavour to express injured innocence with his eyes; but he can't get them to the level of Con's face, strive as he may. "I haven't kept a few stamps back, Mr. Con. You ought to know better, Mr. Con, than to ask me such a question. I don't want them, sir, I don't want them. I backed the winner yesterday; I backed the old horse. I put a dollar on him, and the governor said he'd get me starting-prices--twelve to one, that's what the old horse started at." "Why, who put Taraban into your head?" asks Con, good-humouredly, as he opens the letters Muzzy has brought. "Not one of the prophets went for him. You ought to set up in business for yourself, if you're as clever as that." "No, sir; no, Mr. Con; I'm too old, sir--too old. My time's gone by. If I were younger, as young as you, Mr. Con, I'd make a fortune. I'll tell you how I spotted the winner, Mr. Con. I wrote the names of the horses on pieces of paper, sir, and shook 'em up in a hat, and the first one I drew out was Taraban so I backed him for a dollar. Back your luck, always, Mr. Con, if you want to win; back your luck always." Muzzy's voice and his hands and his whole body tremble and shake in sympathy, as he relates the luck that has befallen him. "I hear the governor's step," he says. "Yes, that's him, on the stairs. I'll ask him for my twelve dollars." "You're precious sharp on him, Muzzy; it isn't settling-day yet." "I know it isn't, Mr. Con, I know it isn't; but the governor's always good to me. I'll give him a dollar if he let's me have the money now. I'll take eleven dollars--eleven fives are fifty-five. That's good interest, Mr. Con, and that's what the governor likes." "Hullo, Muzzy," exclaims Mr. David Sheldrake, as he enters the room, "what are you shaking and quavering about for, eh? How much did you back Taraban for altogether?" With an easy nod to Con Stavely, Mr. Sheldrake seats himself and lights a cigar. "Only a dollar, sir, only a dollar with you," replies Muzzy. "I'd have backed it for more--for all I could raise--but a dollar was all I had, and I couldn't raise another shilling." "Just like your luck, eh, Muzzy?" "Yes, sir, just like my luck. I've spotted many a winner, sir, and never had the money to back them. But luck's been against me all my life, sir--all my life!" He passes the back of his hand slowly across his mouth half a dozen times, and stands looking timidly at Mr. Sheldrake, with an uncertain look in his eyes. "Well, Muzzy, what do you want now?" asks Mr. Sheldrake, with an inward chuckle, knowing the old man's thoughts. "I thought, sir, you might be so good as to pay me the odds on Taraban. I'm in want of money, sir, badly, very badly." "To get drunk with, eh?"