"No, I forgot all about it," replied Glen.

"I'll get one for you if you like," said Jerry.

"I wish you would. Here's the money," and he handed him a sovereign.

Jerry tossed it, "Heads a horse, tails a blank," he called.

The coin fell on the table head up.

"That's a fair start, anyhow. Let's hope it will be a good 'un you draw."

Glen laughed.

"I haven't much faith in sweeps. I was never tempted to throw money away in them."

"Have one in the Caulfield Cup as well?" suggested Jerry.

"No, that will be sufficient," returned Glen. "It's a sovereign gone to the bad."

"Don't be too sure about that; it's your maiden effort, and may prove successful," said Jerry.

"Get me a ticket at the same time," said Bill.

"All right, and I hope when I call here with them it will bring luck to The Kangaroo," answered Jerry.

"I can do with the cash," said Glen laughing, "Bill's got heaps."

CHAPTER XVI

MRS. PREVOST

Glen Leigh went by the train to Randwick, and walked to Hadwin's stables. The trainer was glad to see him. He liked him; something hearty about Glen appealed to him.

"We'll have a look round the horses first, if you care to see them,"

said the trainer.

"That's just what I want," replied Glen. "I'm fond of horses. When I was a keeper on the fence old Ping was my only companion. I've got him in Sydney. He's the queerest horse out; you'd be amused at him. I don't suppose you'd consider him worth a fiver, but it would take a good many fivers to buy him."

"A bush horse, I suppose?"

"Yes, one of the best, a faithful old slave. We've been companions for many years."

"I like a man who's fond of horses. What a queer name--Ping."

"And he's a queer horse," laughed Glen.

They went round the stables. All the horses belonged to Craig Bellshaw; they were a fair lot as far as Glen could judge.

"That's Flash," said Ivor, pointing to a good-looking chestnut. "He's rather smart."

Glen eyed him over and came to the conclusion he was the best he had seen so far. In the next box was Barellan. The brown horse looked well.

He was full of muscle, hard and clean.

As they entered his box he turned and looked at them. When he saw the trainer he seemed quite contented, knowing everything was all right when he was there.

"He's quiet enough," said Ivor. "Have a good look at him. He's a bit different tempered from The Savage."

"I hope so, for your sake," retorted Glen smiling, "or you stand a very fair chance of being killed."

"That's something to look forward to on Sat.u.r.day night," Ivor answered.

Glen went up to the horse and examined him well, pa.s.sing his hand over him, carefully taking in his points. It was difficult to find fault with Barellan. If there was one it was his hocks, which were large and rather unsightly, but there was nothing wrong with them. They were rather low down, in the greyhound style. He had a splendid back and quarters, good shoulders, neck and chest, a shapely head and a good forehead, and fine eyes. He stood over sixteen hands.

"What do you think of him?" Ivor asked.

"He's a good-looking horse. He ought to gallop. He's built for it,"

replied Glen.

"So he can. He's the best I have by a long way, although some people prefer Flash."

"I don't," said Glen promptly. "He's in the Melbourne Cup, isn't he?"

"Yes, in both Cups," said the trainer.

"Will he go for them both?"

"I don't know. It depends on the sweep-money, I expect. Bellshaw's always insisted on having a cut out of the sweep with his horses."

"I suppose that is a regular thing," said Glen.

"Generally speaking it is, but he's greedy. He wants too much," Ivor answered.

Glen stayed to lunch, and they chatted about life in the West, and the trainer told him about the doings at Randwick and elsewhere, interesting him in some of the great horses and races he had seen.

"I shall have a good try to win that two hundred on Sat.u.r.day night,"

said Ivor.

"If you stick on for ten minutes you'll deserve it," replied Glen. "I'll give you a bit of advice. If he throws you get out of the ring as quick as you can, or he'll be on top of you before you know where you are."

"He's not going to throw me," said the trainer confidently.

Glen smiled. He had no wish to dishearten him, but he knew there was little chance of his being successful.

On Sat.u.r.day night the building was crammed, every seat being taken. The announcement that the well-known trainer, Ivor Hadwin, was going to ride The Savage, and try to win the two hundred pounds, caused much excitement.