The Sweep Winner Part 28

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Gerard. Yes, he's in. He's been asking for you," and she told him where to find him.

Nick ascended the stairs, knocked at the door.

"Come in," said a thick voice.

Nick entered and found Jerry struggling with a sketch.

"I don't feel a bit humorous," said Jerry.

"You're a pretty specimen," began Nick.

"Look here, Old Nick, if you've come here to upbraid me I don't want to see you. What I want is ten pounds to see me through."

Nick laughed.

"I'll let you have it if you promise to keep all right."

"Snakes alive. You don't suppose I want to be sacked, do you?" exclaimed Jerry.

"I'd be sorry if you were, so would thousands of people. We'd all miss you, Jerry. 'The Sketch' wouldn't be the same paper," answered Nick.

"That's awfully good of you," said the repentant Jerry. "It means a lot to me. I'll not go back on you, Nick, I promise you, and you shall have some good stuff to amuse you next week."

"That's right, old boy. Buck up. Here's the cash. Have you heard the latest?"

"I haven't been out for days."

"Barellan's lame; Nicholl told me this morning. I've just met Bellshaw.

He's in a towering rage, cursing everybody, and everything. He can handle some language when he likes. He's a heavyweight at it," said Nick.

"Bellshaw's a beast," replied Jerry. "I'm not sorry for him, but I am for Leigh and Hadwin."

"So am I, and I told him so," said Nick.

"What'll happen?" asked Jerry.

"I suppose he'll scratch him if there's no chance of getting him to the post."

"Lame horses have gone to the post and won a Melbourne Cup," said Jerry.

"I'd sooner have one with four legs sound."

"I say, Nick?"

"Yes."

"What do you fancy?"

"If Barellan gets right I think he'll win."

"And if not?"

"Roland."

"The Caulfield Cup winner?"

"Yes. He's a good horse--better than folks imagine."

"But his penalty?"

"He's a weight carrier. His trainer says he'd a stone in hand at Caulfield."

"That settles it," said Jerry.

CHAPTER XXII

SWEEP MONEY

After the Caulfield Cup, Hadwin took the horses to Flemington, where they were boxed at the top of the hill, at the Racecourse Hotel, where many good horses have had their quarters.

Thither Bellshaw went, when he had been to Scott's, and cleansed himself from the grime that acc.u.mulated coming from Albury to Melbourne. He was not popular at the hotel. His generosity was of the miserly kind, and everybody knew it. Still he was the owner of Barellan, the sensational horse of the hour, and people wondered if it would be a case of another a.s.sa.s.sin, who was reported lame, and won easily.

The head waiter said, "It's just up to Bellshaw to plant a lame 'un on us, and then for the horse to come up smiling and win."

When Bellshaw arrived at the Racecourse Hotel he at once saw Hadwin, and there was a stormy scene.

"I told you he'd break down if you gave him such strong work," said Bellshaw.

"He hasn't broken down," retorted the trainer.

"Gerard told me he's dead lame."

"That's different to breaking down. He's not dead lame."

"Then what's the matter with him?"

"Limped when he pulled up, that's all."

"Isn't that enough the week before the race?" growled Bellshaw.

"It would be under certain circ.u.mstances, but it's not serious."

"You think he'll be fit to run?"