Publisher's Synopsis
"I'll bet you mine gets to the bridge first," said the Sunday. With an ingenious movement of the shoulders he arranged himself so that the parapet should bear the weight of his satchel. Edwin Clayhanger slowly turned round, and perceived that the object which the Sunday had appropriated as "his" was the other canal-boat, advancing from the south. "Horse or boat?" asked Edwin. "Boat's nose, of course," said the Sunday. "Well," said Edwin, having surveyed the unconscious competitors, and counting on the aid of the whipping child, "I don't mind laying you five." "That be damned for a tale!" protested the Sunday. "We said we'd never bet less than ten-you know that." "Yes, but-" Edwin hesitatingly drawled. "But what?" "All right. Ten," Edwin agreed. "But it's not fair. You've got a rare start on me." "Rats!" said the Sunday, with finality.
