"No," declined Wallingford. "I'm unlucky when I press a bet."

Rosey S. put up a very good race for place, but dropped back in the finish to a chorus of comforting observations from the quartet, who, to make matters more aggravating, had played the winner for place at a good price.

Jake Block came to them right after the race and handed over the money. He was evidently in a great hurry. Wallingford started to talk to him, but Block moved off rapidly, and it dawned upon J. Rufus that the horseman wanted to "shake" him so as not to have to invite him to dinner with himself and Beauty Phillips.

Sunday morning he went around to that discreet young lady's flat for breakfast, by appointment. "Mrs. Phillips" met him with unusual warmth.

"I've been missing you," she stated with belated remembrance of certain generous gifts. "Say," she added with sudden indignation, "you may have my share of Block for two peanuts. What do you suppose he did? Offered me five dollars to boost him with Beauty. _Five dollars!_"

"The cheap skate!" exclaimed Wallingford sympathetically.

The Beauty came in and greeted him with a flush of pleasure.

"Well," she said, "I got it, all right. The horse runs in the fourth race Friday, and its name is Whipsaw."

"Whipsaw!" exclaimed Wallingford. "He's stringing you."

"No, he isn't," she declared positively. "It was one o'clock last night before I got him thawed out enough to give up, and I had to let him hold my hand, at that," and she rubbed that hand vigorously as if it still had some stain upon it. "He told me all about the horse. He says it's the one good thing he's going to uncover for this meeting.

He tried Whipsaw out on his own breeding-farm down in Kentucky, clocking him twice a week, and he says the nag can beat anything on this track. Block's been breaking him to run real races, entering against a lot of selling-platers, with instructions to an iron-armed jockey to hold in so as to get a long price. Friday he intends to send the horse in to win and expects to get big odds. I'm glad it's over with. We promised to go out to Claremont this afternoon with Block, but that settles him. To-morrow I'm going out with you."

J. Rufus shook his head.

"No, you mustn't," he insisted. "You must string this boy along till after the race Friday. He might change his mind or scratch the horse or something, but if he knows you have a heavy bet down, and he's still with you, he'll go through with the program."

"I can't do it," she protested.

He turned to her slowly, took both her hands, and gazed into her eyes.

"Yes, you can, Beauty," he said. "We've been good pals up to now, and this is the last thing I'll ever ask of you."

She looked at him a moment with heightening color, then she dropped her eyes.

"Honest, Pinky," she confessed, "sometimes I do wish you had a lot of money."

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH WALLINGFORD AND BLACKIE DAW ENJOY THEMSELVES

On Monday, nearing noon, Wallingford dropped into a flashy cafe just off Broadway, where he knew he would be bound to find some one of his quartet. He found Short-Card Larry there alone, his long, thin fingers clasped around a gla.s.s of b.u.t.termilk.

"h.e.l.lo, Wallingford," he said, grinning. "Going out to the track to-day?"

"I'm not going to miss a race till the meeting closes," a.s.serted Wallingford. "I've a good one to-day that I'm going to send in a couple of hundred on."

"What is it?" asked Larry.

"Governor."

"Governor!" snorted Larry. "Who's in the race with him?" He drew a paper to him and turned to the entries. "Why," he protested, "there isn't a plug in that race that can't come back to hunt him."

"That's all right," said Wallingford. "I'm for the National Clockers'

a.s.sociation, and I'm going to play their picks straight through."

"Here's a match," offered Larry scornfully. "Set fire to your money and save yourself the trouble of the trip."

"Maybe you'd like to save it from the flames. What odds will you give me?"

This being an entirely different proposition, Larry began to think much better of the horse.

"Five to one," he finally decided, after studying over the entries again. "Don't know whether that's the track odds or not. But you can take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," agreed Wallingford, and tossed his money on the bar.

Mr. Teller drew a check-book from his pocket, and Wallingford, glancing at the top of the stub as Larry filled out the blank for a thousand, noted with satisfaction the splendid balance that was there.

Evidently the gang was well in funds. They had, no doubt, been quite busy of late.

"Of course you'll cash that," requested Wallingford, not so much on account of this particular bet as to establish a precedent.

"Sure," agreed Teller; "although I'll only have to deposit it again."

"I'm betting the two hundred you don't, remember," said Wallingford, and they signed a memorandum of the bet, which they deposited with the rock-jawed proprietor, after that never-smiling gentleman had nonchalantly opened his safe and cashed Larry's check.

On Tuesday morning, Governor having lost and Short-Card Larry having imprudently exulted to his friends over the two-hundred-dollar winning, Mr. Teller came around to Wallingford's hotel with his pocket full of money to find there Badger Billy and Mr. Phelps, both of whom had come on similar business.

"I suppose you got his coin on to-day's sure thing," observed Larry with a scowl, he being one to whom a bad temper came naturally.

"Three hundred of it," said fat Badger Billy triumphantly. "To-day he has a piece of Brie _fromage_ by the name of Handica.s.s."

"Which ought to be called Handcase," supplemented Phelps, and the two threw back their heads and roared. "The cheese is expected to skipper home about the time the crowd realizes they're off." And they all enjoyed themselves in contemplation of what was going to happen to Handica.s.s.

"Got any more?" demanded Larry.

"Not this morning," returned Wallingford, accepting his role of derided "come-on" with smiling fort.i.tude. "I want to save some for to-morrow's bet."

"You see," explained Billy Banting, purring up his red cheeks with laughter, "Wallingford's playing a system of progression. He hikes the bet every day, expecting to play even in the finish."

"I see," said Larry, grinning; "but don't you fellows hook all this easy money. Count me in for a piece of to-morrow's bet."

He had a chance. Handica.s.s ran to consistent form with all the other "picks"--except the one accident, Razzoo--of the National Clockers'

a.s.sociation, and on Wednesday, Wallingford bet four hundred on the "information" which that concern wired to him and to Mr. Phelps. On that day, too, having received at breakfast-time a report from Beauty Phillips that the Whipsaw horse was still "meant," he wrote careful instructions to Blackie Daw, then held his thumbs and crossed his fingers and touched wood and looked at the moon over the proper shoulder, and did various other things to keep Fate from sending home one of those tips as an accidental winner on either Wednesday or Thursday.

Nothing of that disastrous sort happened, however, and his pet enemies, the quartet, having won from J. Rufus on Sat.u.r.day, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, had by this time pooled their interests and const.i.tuted themselves Wallingford's regular bookmaking syndicate. Their only fear on Friday morning, after Phelps had received his wire from Boston, was that Wallingford would not care to bet that day, since the horse which had been given out was that notorious tail-ender, Whipsaw! They invaded J. Rufus' apartments as soon as they got the wire, and were relieved to find that Wallingford was still firm in his allegiance to the National Clockers'

a.s.sociation.