they will. They's only a lot o' cuddies, any'ow."

No one likes to expose his own ignorance by asking which horse he refers to
as the "only one in it"; and the Oracle goes on to deal out
some more wisdom in a loud voice.

"Billy K---- told me" (he probably hardly knows Billy K---- by sight)
"Billy K---- told me that that bay 'orse ran the best mile-an'-a-half
ever done on Randwick yesterday; but I don't give him a chance,
for all that; that's the worst of these trainers. They don't know
when their horses are well -- half of 'em."

Then a voice comes from behind him. It is that of the thin man,
who is crushed out of sight by the bulk of the Oracle.

"I think," says the thin man, "that that horse of Flannery's
ought to run well in the Handicap."

The Oracle can't stand this sort of thing at all. He gives a snort,
wheels half-round and looks at the speaker. Then he turns back
to the compartment full of people, and says: "No 'ope."

The thin man makes a last effort. "Well, they backed him last night,
anyhow."

"Who backed 'im?" says the Oracle.

"In Tattersall's," says the thin man.

"I'm sure," says the Oracle; and the thin man collapses.