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Andy took it in slowly. "How much?" he asked at last. "Six-seven thousand," said Uncle William. "What!" Andy's feet scuffed a little. "'T ain't reasonable," he said feebly. "No, 't ain't reasonable." Uncle William spoke gently. "I was a good deal s'prised myself, Andy, when I found how high they come picters. Ye can't own a gre't many of 'em not at one time."
So you give up all attempt to answer back, and meekly mention that you want to be put in communication with four-five-seven-six. "Four-nine-seven-six?" says the girl. "No; four-five-seven-six." "Did you say seven-six or six-seven?" "Six-seven no! I mean seven-six: no wait a minute. I don't know what I do mean now." "Well, I wish you'd find out," says the young lady severely.
What they say is this, that if he gets in with seven stone, and we brings him well and three parts trained, there ain't no 'orse in England that can stand up before him. They've got another in the race, Laurel Leaf, to make the running for him; it can't be too strong for old Ben. You say to yourself that he may get let off with six-seven. If he do there'll be tons of money on him.
He beetled it toward the Power Section. Chief Powerman's Mate Multhaus was probably the only man in the crew who came close to being as big as Mike the Angel. Multhaus was two inches shorter than Mike's six-seven, but he weighed in at two-ninety.
"He was a good 'orse once; he's broken down and aged; he can't be trained, so six-seven seems just the kind of weight to throw him in at. You couldn't give him less, however old and broken down he may be. He was a good horse when he won the Great Ebor Grand Cup." "Do you think if they brought him to the post as fit and well as he was the day he won the Ebor that he'd win?"
It was not usual for Journeyman to meet with so sympathetic a listener; he had often been made to feel that his handicapping was unnecessary, and he now noticed, and with much pleasure, that Stack's attention seemed to increase rather than to diminish as he approached the end. When he had finished Stack said, "I see you've given six-seven to Ben Jonson. Tell me why you did that?"
"What, fit and well as he was when he won the Great Ebor, and with six-seven on his back? He'd walk away with it." "You don't think any of the three-year-olds would have a chance with him? A Derby winner with seven stone on his back might beat him." "Yes, but nothing short of that. Even then old Ben would make a race of it. A nailing good horse once.
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