Lewis knew that. "If there's anythin' doin', I'm up against
it here," he muttered to himself. "What's Lauzanne's price?" he asked,
in an indifferent voice, for the bookmaker's assistant was busy changing
the figures on his list.
Faust pretended not to hear him.
"Sure thing!" whispered Lewis to himself. Then aloud he repeated the
question, touching the bookmaker on the elbow.
The Cherub smiled blandly. "Not takin' any," he answered, nodding his
head in the pleasant manner of a man who knows when he's got a good
thing.
"What's Lucretia?" persisted Lewis.
"Oh! that's it, is it? I'll lay you two to one."
The questioner edged away, shaking his head solemnly.
"Here! five to two--how much--" but Lewis was gone.
He burrowed like a mole most industriously, regardless of people's toes,
their ribs, their dark looks, and even angry expressions of strong
disapproval, and when he gained the green sward of the lawn, hurried to
his friend's box.
"Did you get it on?" queried the latter.
"No; I don't like the look of it. Faust is holding out Lauzanne, and
stretched me half a point about the mare. He and Langdon are in the
same boat."
"But that won't win the race," remonstrated Danby.
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