"Done!" said two or three, and amongst them Hill. I might have
repeated the offer and accepted the bet over and over again, so
popular was it. "Done, done, done!" everywhere.
But Hill was the man for my money, and he had it. Before morning the
_favourite was scratched_!
It was the race which Hermit won! Poor Hastings lost heavily and died
soon after. I had backed the wrong horse, and have never ceased to
wonder how I could have been so foolish. "Let me advise you not to
speculate amongst us," were Hill's words, "for if you do we shall beat
you;" and it cost me five pounds to learn that. A lawyer's opinion may
be worth what is paid for it in a case stated; but of the soundness
of of a horse's wind, or the thousand and one ailments to which that
animal's flesh and blood are heir, I knew nothing--not so much as the
little boy who runs and fetches in the stable, and who could give
the ablest lawyer in Great Britain or Ireland odds on any particular
favourite's "public form" and beat him.
Put not your trust in tipsters; they no more knew that Hermit had a
chance for the Derby than they could foretell the snowstorm that was
coming to enable him to win it.
This was the last bet I ever made; and I owe my abandonment of the
practice to Harry Hill, who gave me excellent advice and enforced it
by example.
CHAPTER XVI.
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