_Mr. Punch_. Your Stable, no doubt, has of late been a winning one; Horses and Jockeys have both done their best. _Trainer_. Yes; Guv'nor's black phiz--bless his heart!--is a grinning one; _All_ our nags answer when put to the test. _Mr. Punch_. All? That's a bit of a stretch, my dear fellow. _Wheel Tax_ went wrong. _Compensation_ came down. Hasn't MATT's riding at times turned you yellow, And RAIKES's wild steering almost done you brown? _Trainer_. Maybe, Sir, maybe! We can't _always_ spot 'em, But average winnings come out very well. On this next race, now, I fancy we've got 'em, Ah, fairly on toast, far as I can hear tell. _Mr. Punch_. The Sanguine Old Man--is _he_ of your opinion? And SOLLY, the owner, is he at his ease? _Trainer_. Oh, dash the doldrums! I scorn their dominion. There are some people no fellow can please. What I say, Mister, is, look at their Stable, The old Opposition shop. Lot of old crocks! _Flowing-Tide?_ Faugh! Half his doings are fable. _Home Rule?_ The deadest of utter dead-locks! _Socialist?_ Why, half the Party won't back him. _Eight Hour?_ A roarer, all noise and no pace! Eh? _Local Option?_ Won't win; though they whack him! What _have_ they got, that can score the Big Race? _Mr. Punch_. Well, I must own they do seem a bit out of it. Still, the Big Race for surprises is famed. _Trainer_. Bah! It's a moral for us, not a doubt of it. Horse that can lick us is not foaled or named. _Mr. Punch_. Glad you're so cock-sure, dear JOKIM. Still lately They've scored some small handicaps, that you'll allow. _Trainer_. Oh! Harborough Stakes! Well, that don't scare me greatly, Mere fluke after all, though they raised a big row. _Mr. Punch_. It's mostly "a fluke" when opponents go by us; But flukes, you know, count, at the end of the game. _Trainer_. Well, look at the betting! Although they decry us, They'd like to have money on us all the same. Their best horse is "aged," their best jockey oldish, He's plucky, but years, Sir, will tell on the nerve. Some of 'em who've backed him the longest grow coldish, Whilst others do hint that he seems on the swerve. The lot who are sweet on that leggy colt, _Labour_, Would like a new "mount," if they dared to speak out. There isn't a man of 'em quite trusts his neighbour, _Home Rule_ with BILL up! That inspires 'em with doubt! (Ask H-RC-RT or R-S-B-RY--on the Q.T., Sir.) The Old Jock is obstinate, new 'uns can't ride. Funk M-RL-Y, or L-BBY and that lot! Not _me_, Sir! I tell you the chances are all on our side. _Mr. Punch_. Well, luck goes with them who're not shirkers or shrinkers. Ah! here comes your crack--rather restive, I fear. By Jove, are you going to run him in blinkers?