torted the wise cherub.

Jerry repeated his original question.

"Who done Mr. Silver down?"

"Jews," ventured a sporting youth.

This answer met with more approval.

"That's more like," said Jerry. "Now 'ow can he get back on 'em?"

"Bash 'em," suggested the sportsman, encouraged by his previous success.
"He's bigger nor them, I'll lay."

The lecturer on the platform lifted a protesting hand.

"You mustn't bash 'em, boy Jackson," he said. "Tain't accordin' to
religion--at least not the religion what I'm here to teach you. No,"
said the preacher of righteousness, "you mustn't bash 'em. That'd never
do."

"What then?" piped the cherub.

"You must lay for him," answered the moralist.

Alf was on his feet in a trice.

"At the Canal Turn," he chirped. "Bump him off and then jump on the flat
of his face."

The moralist greeted the suggestion with warm approval.

"One up to Alfie!" he cried. "He'll make a jockey and a Christian yet,
Alf will."

Ginger handed up a piece of chalk.

Jerry hushed his audience.

"Quiet now, _if_ you please," said he.

He took the chalk and wrote up in sprawling letters on the board:

_Bible Class._

_First Question. What price Four-Pound-the-Second, Grand National?_

Instantly there was a hub-bub, from which the words "Hundred to one"
came with insistent force.

"Hundred to one," said the lecturer. "Thank you, genelmen."

He proceeded to write.

_Second Question. Any takers?_

"Yus," said the lofty Stanley. "I'll do it in dollars--twice over."

"Thank _you_," said the scribe.

_Third Question. What price Mocassin?_

The name was received with groans.

"Sevens--if Chukkers rides," cried the cherub. "Tens if he don't."

The answer was received with jeers.

"Chukkers _not_ ride!"

"O' course he'll ride!"

"He always has ridden her--here and in the States and in Australia!"

Stanley finally deigned to descend from his heights to crush the youth.

"They got a quarter of a million on God Almighty's Mustang, the Three
J's 'ave. Think they'd trust anyone up only one of their fat selves? Now
then!"

In the middle of the storm Monkey Brand, who had been waiting for the
girl in the door, looked in.

He saw the writing on the board and crossed the barn. Monkey himself
could neither read nor write, but he was well aware that anything
written by the lads should be rubbed out at once.

"Who wrote this?" he asked.

Jerry, who on the other's e