Amant
is firm as a rock." "How the devil--" I began. "That's a fine
horse, too, over yonder," he said, pointing one out with his
umbrella. "John o' Gaunt," said I: "ran second to St. Amant for the
Guineas, and second to Henry the First in the Newmarket, with St.
Amant third. The running has been all in-and-out this season.
But how the devil you spotted him, when I didn't know you could tell
a horse's head from his stern--" "I don't profess to much more,"
said Foe; "but it's my job to read an animal's eye, and what he's fit
for by the quiver under his skin. Now, I'd only a glimpse of St.
Amant's eye, across his blinkers, and your John o' Gaunt is a stout
one--inclined, you tell me, to run in second place. But if your
money's on Gouvernant, hurry while there's time and set it right.
If you've thirty seconds to spare when you've done that," he added,
"you may put up a tenner for me on St. Amant--but don't bother. Your
book may want some arranging."
The way he said it impressed me, and I fairly shinned back to the
Ring. I hadn't made my book on any reasoned conviction, you
understand; for the horses had been playing at cat's-cradle all
along, and as I went it broke on me that, after all, my faith in
Gouvernant mainly rested on my knowing less of him than of the
others--that I was really going with the crowd.
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