I had a nervous chill for fear she'd declare herself in on the
rake-off.
But she didn't, so I excused myself and backed down the ladder to
cash in.
The boys were all out in the inquest room trying to find out what
killed the dead ones.
Then they stopped apologizing to themselves and began to pick things
out of the next race and push them up their sleeves.
I ran across Harry Maddy and he took me up to the roof with a line of
talk about a horse called "Pretty Boy" in the last race.
"He'll be over 80 to 1 and it's a killing," Harry insisted. "Get
down to the bank when the doors open and grab all you can. Take a
satchel and the ice-tongs and haul it away."