"Yes, he do," said William, "an' nowhere else. He's at every meeting as reg'lar as if he was a bookie himself. I 'ates to see his face.... I'd be a rich man if I'd all the money that man 'as 'ad out of me in the last three years."
"What should you say was his system?" asked Mr. Stack.
This admission seemed a little chilling; for everyone had thought himself many steps nearer El Dorado.
"But did you ever notice," said Mr. Ketley, "that there was certain days on which he bet?"
"Are they outsiders that he backs?" asked Stack.
"No, only favourites. But what I can't make out is that there are times when he won't touch them; and when he don't, nine times out of ten they're beaten."
"Are the 'orses he backs what you'd call well in?" said Journeyman.
"Then it must be on information from the stable authorities?" said Stack.
"I dun know," said William; "have it that way if you like, but I'm glad there ain't many about like him. I wish he'd take his custom elsewhere. He gives me the solid hump, he do."
"What sort of man should you say he was? 'as he been a servant, should you say?" asked old John.
"I can't tell you what he is. Always new suit of clothes and a hie-glass. Whenever I see that 'ere hie-glass and that brown beard my heart goes down in my boots. When he don't bet he takes no notice, walks past with a vague look on his face, as if he didn't see the people, and he don't care that for the 'orses. Knowing he don't mean no business, I cries to him, 'The best price, Mr. Buff; two to one on the field, ten to one bar two or three.' He just catches his hie-glass tighter in eye and looks at me, smiles, shakes his head, and goes on. He is a warm 'un; he is just about as 'ot as they make 'em."
"What I can't make out," said Journeyman, "is why he bets on the course. You say he don't know nothing about horses. Why don't he remain at 'ome and save the exes?"
"I've thought of all that," said William, "and can't make no more out of it than you can yerselves. All we know is that, divided up between five or six of us, Buff costs not far short of six 'undred a year."
At that moment a small blond man came into the bar. Esther knew him at once. It was Ginger. He had hardly changed at all--a little sallower, a little dryer, a trifle less like a gentleman.
