Hump Chippendale had none of these gentle
failings; he was a democratic leg, who loved to fleece a
noble, and thought all men were born equal--a consoling creed
that was a hedge for his hump.
"Seven to four against the favourite; seven to two against
Caravan; eleven to two against Mango. What about Benedict?
Will any one do anything about Pocket Hercules? Thirty to one
against Dardanelles."
"Done."
"Five and thirty ponies to one against Phosphorus," shouted a
little man vociferously and repeatedly.
"I will give forty," said Lord Milford. No answer,--nothing
done.
"Forty to one!" murmured Egremont who stood against
Phosphorus. A little nervous, he said to the peer in the
white great coat, "Don't you think that Phosphorus may after
all have some chance?"
"I should be cursed sorry to be deep against him," said the
peer.
Egremont with a quivering lip walked away. He consulted his
book; he meditated anxiously. Should he hedge? It was
scarcely worth while to mar the symmetry of his winnings; he
stood "so well" by all the favourites; and for a horse at
forty to one. No; he would trust his star, he would not
hedge.
"Mr Chippendale," whispered the peer in the white great coat,
"go and press Mr Egremont about Phosphorus.
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