g a mean advantage to murderers;
who otherwise, if they murdered fair, and were respectably hanged,
merely filled _roles_ necessary to History and the Drama.

"Couldn't say about the barking-iron," said Uncle Mo. "He's got a nasty
sort of a knife, because he was flourishing of it out once to frighten
M'riar. I'll give him that." Meaning--the advantage of the weapon. A
trivial concession from a survivor of the best days of the Fancy! "Ye
see, Jerry," he continued, "he'll have to come within arm's length, to
use it. _I'll_ see to him! Him and his carving-knives!"

But Mr. Jerry was far from easy about his friend, who seemed to him
over-confident. He had passed his life in sporting circles, and though
he himself had seen more of jockeys than prizefighters, their respective
circumferences intersected; and more than one case had come to his
knowledge of a veteran of the Ring unconscious of his decadence, who had
boastfully defied a junior, and made the painful discovery of the degree
to which youth can outclass age. This was scarcely a case of youth or
extreme age, but the twenty years that parted them were all-sufficient.

He began to seek in his inner conscience excuses for a course of action
which would--he was quite candid with himself--have a close resemblance
to treachery. But would not a little straightforward treachery be not
only very expedient, but rather moral? Were high principles a _sine qua
non_ to such a humble individual as himself, a "bookmaker" on
race-courses, a billiard-marker elsewhere in their breathing-times?
Though indeed Mr. Jerry in his chequered life had seen many other phases
of employment--chiefly, whenever he had the choice, within the zone of
horsiness. For he had a mysterious sympathetic knowledge of the horse.
If pressed to give an account of himself, he was often compelled to
admit that he was doing nothing particular, but was on the lookout. He
might indicate that he was getting sick of this sort of thing, and would
take the next chance that turned up; would, as it were, close with Fate.
There had never been a moment in his sixty odd years of life--for he was
very little Uncle Mo's junior--when he had not been on the eve of a
lucrative permanency. It had never come; and never could, in the nature
of things. Nevertheless, the evanescencies that came and went and
chequered his career were not quite unremunerative, though they were
hardly lucrative. If he was ever hard up, he certainly never