er--a little professional fixing, so to
speak."

"Will he have to be in on it?" Hogarty countered instantly. "Will he?
Not to any great extent, he won't. According to my plan he fights
straight. Don't you suppose I know a straight man when I see one, just
as well as you do?

"Here's the whole thing--just as I'll put it up to Dennison before
it's dark tonight. It's Dennison's own plan, too, in the first place,
so he hasn't any kick coming. We'll match Bolton against one of the
fairly good ones--Lancing, say--in about two weeks. Lancing gets his
orders to open up in the sixth round and go down with the punch--and
stay down! That's plain enough, isn't it? Well, Bolton is fighting
under the name of 'The Pilgrim,' and you step up the next morning and
give him two columns--you hail him as a real one, at last.

"We'll match him with The Texan then. Conway whipped him back a week
or two, but he had his hands full doing it. The Texan--and I ought to
know--is open to reason if the figure is big enough to be persuasive.
We'll see to that.

"He gets his orders, too--just as if they were really necessary! About
the twelfth he lies down to sleep. Why, it's so simple it's real art!
I'll just hold Bolton back until those rounds. I'll make him take it
slow--and then send him in to clean up! Dennison is shy a match right
this minute for The Red; they're all a little doubtful about him. The
Pilgrim will be the only logical man in the world to send against
him--that is, according to your sporting columns. And Dennison, of
course, being on the inside, knows he is really nothing but a
dub--knows it is simply a plain open and shut proposition. That is to
say--he _thinks_ he knows!"

Jesse Hogarty paused and the corners of his lips twitched back to show
his teeth, but not in laughter.

"It's the same little frame-up that he sent against Boots and me," he
finished. "He ought to be satisfied, hadn't he? And I'll have him on
the street the next morning--I'll put him where he'll be glad to
borrow a dollar to buy his breakfast with!"

For a long time they stared back into each other's face: Hogarty taut
at the table side, Morehouse slouched deep in his chair. The latter
was the first to break that pregnant silence. He was nodding his head
in thoughtful finality when he lifted himself to his feet.

"You've got me," he stated. "You've got me snared! Not that I give two
hoots about what happens to Dennison, mind! I don't--although I must
ad