"That's better," he said, as he tossed off the spirit. "Now we can tork." "I'm waiting," said Mostyn drily. "Well, it's like this," said the jockey, fixing his little eyes upon Mostyn as though attempting to read his thoughts. "I've had a row with the guv'nor; he's a rotter, that's wot he is!" He paused meaningly. Mostyn gave him no assistance. "Well?" was all he said. "A rotter," repeated Wilson, "a low-down, measly Jew. I've never ridden for a Jew afore, an' I'm sorry I consented to this time." "Well?" repeated Mostyn. "Carn't you see wot I'm drivin' at, Mr. Clithero? Carn't you help a chap a bit?" protested Wilson, who thought that the object of his visit should have been guessed at once. "Hadn't you better speak clearly, and come to the point?" suggested Mostyn, who had a pretty shrewd idea of what was about to be proposed to him. Wilson accordingly made the plunge. "Don Quixote is goin' to win the Two Thousand," he said. "Asmodeus ain't. There's no getting round that to us as knows; that is, of course, if all goes normal like. Well, Mr. Clithero, sir, I guess you want to win this race, and that's why I've come to you, Mr. Clithero, sir." Mostyn hated the constant repetition of his name, and he was boiling over with indignation at the suggestion made to him, though he kept his features under control, and allowed the little man to have his say. To the jockey it seemed that the owner of Asmodeus must be particularly dense. He did not like to put his proposition into plain words. What was the necessity for it? "Between man and man who understand each other," he began, "these little things can be arranged, you know." He rose from his chair, putting his empty glass aside, and sidled nearer to Mostyn. "I'm ready to strike a bargain with you, Mr. Clithero, sir, if so be ye're willing. It needn't be such a dead cert for Don Quixote, after all." Mostyn sat silent, staring straight before him, though he kept one elbow well out in order to prevent Wilson coming too near. Of course, he knew quite well what was meant--had understood all the time. This little rogue was willing to pull Don Quixote for a consideration--a consideration which, though no doubt it would be heavy, Mostyn was quite capable of providing, and, as far as he was concerned, there was no actual danger. If any objection were raised to the riding--which was most unlikely, for Wilson was clever at that sort of thing--it would all be put down to a manoeuvre on the part of Isaacson, or to spite on the part of the jockey--as far as Mostyn was concerned, it didn't matter which.