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 accumulated 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 Assassin, 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 circumstances, but it's not serious."

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

The trainer laughed.

"Of course he will. Who put that silly idea into your head?"

"Let's look at him."

They walked down the yard to Barellan's box.

"Bring him out," said Bellshaw.

Hadwin called the head lad and the horse was led out. He limped slightly. His near fore-leg was swollen.

"It doesn't look hopeless," said Bellshaw.

"It isn't. He'll be all right in a couple of days, and he's as fit as he can be. The rest will not do him any harm."

"I haven't seen Leigh yet," said Bellshaw.

"You'll have no difficulty in finding him."

"He'll have to come down handsomely over the sweep money."

"I don't think he will. I shouldn't be surprised if he declines to lay you at all."

"He'll do it. If he doesn't I'll scratch Barellan."

"You dare not. There would be a terrible outcry against you."

"What do I care? He's my horse; I can do as I like with him."

"If you scratch him you'll throw the Cup away."

"You're confident. What makes you so sanguine?"

"I know what he can do, and after Flash's running in the Caulfield Cup it is a good thing," returned the trainer.

"Don't say anything about the lameness being slight," said Bellshaw. "You're sure to have someone rooting round for information."

"Very well," said Hadwin, who intended doing as he thought fit.

At night Bellshaw went to the Show and saw Glen Leigh ride The Savage. He admired his skill; he could not help it.

After the performance he went round to see Glen Leigh and had a cool reception.

"I've come about the Sweep," he said. "You've drawn my horse."

"He's lame," answered Glen. "Just my luck. Will he run?"

"It all depends."

"Depends whether he's got over it by Tuesday?" said Glen.

"It depends on you."

"What have I got to do with it?"

"A good deal. You've drawn Barellan in the Sweep, and I expect a cut out of it."

"Do you, and how much do you expect?"

"Half of what you draw. That's fair."

Glen laughed as he said, "You don't want much. You'd better have the lot."

"It's a fair proposition," said Bellshaw.

"I drew Barellan and I shall stick to anything I get out of it," Glen replied.

"You mean you will give me nothing out of the Sweep?"

"Not a farthing," snapped Glen.

"Then do you know what I shall do?"

"No."

"I shall scratch him."

"A nice sportsmanlike proceeding that would be," said Glen.

"I don't run my horse for your benefit, or the benefit of the public."

"So I always understood," answered Glen.

"Consider it over. If you do not make me a fair offer by Saturday I'll strike him out on Monday."

"I don't think you will," said Glen, in a mildly irritating way.

"But I shall."

"Again I repeat I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Because I can advance some weighty reasons against your doing so."

"To which I shall not listen," said Bellshaw.

"To which I am certain you will listen, and, having heard them, will fall in with my views."

Bellshaw was fast losing his temper. He had no idea what Leigh was driving at.

"I tell you again if you don't come down handsomely with the sweep money I'll strike him out."

"And I say you will not," retorted Glen.

Gerard came round to see Glen Leigh. Jerry Makeshift, and Tom Roslyn were with him.

"How's your horse?" Tom asked Bellshaw.

"Lame," snapped the owner of Barellan, who objected to being questioned by the representative of "Racing Life" or any other journalist.

"I'm quite aware of that, but as I presume you have seen him since your arrival, I thought perhaps you could give me some later information to wire to Sydney. There will be considerable excitement over the mishap," said Tom in his most placid manner, at the same time wishing Bellshaw at the uttermost part of the earth.

"You know as much as I do," returned Bellshaw. "If he doesn't pull round by Monday he'll be struck out."

Glen Leigh looked at him with contempt. He knew Bellshaw would not be so anxious about the sweep money if Barellan were dead lame, a hopeless case.

"That won't be the reason he's struck out," said Glen and they all looked at him questioningly.

Bellshaw turned on him in a rage.

"It's a lie. It will be because he's lame if he's struck out."

Glen laughed.

"You told me a few minutes ago you'd strike Barellan out if I did not give you a cut out of the sweep," he said.

Tom Roslyn smiled knowingly at Jerry as much as to say, "That's more like it."

"I say, Bellshaw, you'd never do a dirty thing like that?" said Nick.

"I've told you my horse is lame; I also told Leigh I expected a cut out of the sweep, and he said he wouldn't lay me anything. Do you think that's fair?" Bellshaw asked.

"He's drawn the horse; he can do as he likes. Personally I don't think an owner has any right to demand sweep money," said Tom.

"That's your opinion, is it? I expect you'd talk differently if you owned Barellan," sneered Bellshaw.

"If a lucky drawer of the sweep money offered me a portion I'd take it, but I'd never demand it," replied Tom.

"I mean to get some of it anyhow," declared Bellshaw.

"Then if Barellan will start on those conditions," said Tom, "he can't be so bad. I think I'll risk it and wire to that effect. It will relieve his backers."

"Wire if you like, but don't say I gave you the information."

"Not willingly, but putting one thing with another I think I am justified in wiring that your horse's lameness is not so serious as at first supposed," answered Tom.

"Then you'll be misleading the public, as you have done many a time."

"I never mislead the public, knowingly," said Tom.

"Through ignorance of facts," sneered Bellshaw. "Put it that way."

"You're not making a bed of roses for yourself by going on in this way," said Jerry. "You'll smart for it if you don't mind."

"You've been on the spree ever since you've been here," remarked Bellshaw. "I wonder what your boss would say if he knew."

"You can tell him if you wish. I fancy you'd get your change," retorted Jerry.

Turning to Leigh, Bellshaw said, "I've had enough of this talk. You let me know by Saturday what you are going to do, or I'll act as I said I would."

He left them and walked out of the office.

"The atmosphere's a bit purer now he's gone," said Tom. "Isn't he a bounder?"

"He is. I've a good mind to rub it into him next week. He's a good figure to caricature," answered Jerry.

"Let him alone. Don't waste your talent on him," said Nick.

"I'd better turn my attention to you, and call it 'The Philanthropist'," suggested Jerry smiling.

Nick laughed. He knew to what Jerry alluded.

"I've issued a challenge," he said, "or rather I am about to do so; you can wire it to the 'Life' if you wish to."

"What is it, boxing?"

"No, something more exciting. I'll wager two thousand pounds no one can produce a horse that will throw Glen Leigh in a quarter of an hour. There are conditions of course; it must be a throw, no lying down, and rolling over him, and so on."

"By Jove, that's plucky," said Tom. "He thinks a lot of your riding, Leigh."

"I do. He's the best roughrider in Australia, and that's saying a lot," affirmed Nick.

"We'll draw up the conditions," said Tom, "and I'll forward them."

"Give 'em a month from date in which to find the animals," replied Nick. "We must limit it to six horses, one to be ridden each night. It will pack the place, bring grist to the mill, and it must come off in Sydney. I mean to give Leigh half the stake if he wins, as I feel sure he will."

"What do you say, Leigh?" asked Tom.

"I'll accept with pleasure; I'll ride anything they like to bring in," answered Glen.

"Good man," said Tom. "There'll be some sport. You'll have your work cut out."

Glen smiled confidently.