Cantwell reports

The noise of the Posthorn Gallop was blaring out once again, as Cantwell left the bar. He could just glimpse the white coats of the kennel lads parading the dogs. Because he was taller than average, Temple stood out amongst the crowd by the rails. Cantwell elbowed his way to his side.

"Well?" Temple asked.

"Name is Soppy Soper, real name is Harry but everyone calls him Soppy. He doesn't like it, nor would I." Temple was about to interrupt. Cantwell knew he would tell him to 'get on with it'. So, he launched rapidly into the next piece of information. "He's a herdsman at Grange Farm. Near to Woodbury Common. It seems he looks after lots of other farm animals." He was about to describe them in some detail but thought better of it. "It seems that a greyhound kennels and training centre was set up there. He looks after the dogs. From what he said, they bring in a pretty penny."

"Anything else?"

"I asked him for a tip, just to see how he would react. He told me that if I'd met him earlier this evening then he could have given me one." Cantwell grimaced, he would be damned if he told Temple the rest of the story. Equally well, he'd be damned if he didn't tell him."

"Well, come on, man." Temple was obviously irritated by Cantwell's reticence. "There's more to it, I can see it on your face. Spit it out!"

"He said that if I met him here at the meeting on Saturday, he'd be able to give me a good tip then."

"Excellent! Good work! Why're you looking so miserable? You should be pleased."

"Gov, I promised Debbie that I'd take her out on Saturday with the overtime I got tonight. She'll go mad, if I don't!"

"Take her out to Sunday lunch instead. Somewhere really nice. Use your imagination. Then, if that doesn't do the trick, tell her you'll take her to a tea-dance the following Saturday. You can tell her that your overtime will come in really handy for all those little things she wants."

Cantwell was not so easily convinced. If Temple was so bloody clever at handling women, how come his wife had left him and gone back to London. However, he said nothing.

They did not wait for the next race. Instead they headed for the turnstiles and the car. For Cantwell, the journey back to Starmouth was over almost before it had begun. He was dreading telling Debbie about the dog racing on Saturday.