a
temporary respite from the bitter, haunting memories of the past.

It would be difficult to follow, and uninteresting to read, the devious
windings of Checkers' way during the next few months. Hardened,
despondent, and utterly careless; without the restraining influence of
worthy friends or home ties to soften and hold him; with money, but no
occupation; time, but nothing to do with it--little wonder is it that,
after the great White City finally closed its gates, shutting him off
from his one simple pleasure, he gradually drifted back to the stirring
scenes of his youth--the races and the betting-ring.

The history of every one of the hundreds of thousands of men who have
"played the races" may be told in three short words: "They went
broke"--sooner or later. Generally sooner than later; but "they went
broke."

So it was with Checkers. Good information, careful betting--playing
horses for place when he thought they could win; sometimes not risking
a cent all day; watching the owners, standing in with the jockeys--all
this put him nicely ahead for a while, and staved off the evil day for
long. But the eternal law of average will not down, and the percentage
in the betting-ring is absurdly against the bettor. A streak of hard
luck; a slaughter of the favorites; a plunge; throwing good money after
bad; doubling up once or twice; a final coup. Pouf! One afternoon
Checkers found himself penniless.

That night he pawned his watch for all it would bring. This put him in
funds again, but gave him pause. He decided to stop gambling and go to
work. But the morning paper contained a tempting list of entries. It
was Saturday, and a short day.

He went to the track as usual, and at the end of the third race was
"broke." Then he met Murray Jameson. Both were surprised. Checkers
told him his story, and borrowed ten dollars. Murray lost fifty more
by playing Checkers' tips, against his own better judgment. Murray was
"sore"--Checkers apologetic. This was his first experience as a tout.
After that he picked up a precarious living, selling whatever articles
of value he possessed, one after another, until he had left but the
diamond star he had given Pert as a wedding gift, and a scanty wardrobe.

When necessity caused him to part with the star he forswore the races,
and for two full weeks conscientiously sought for legitimate
employment. But Chicago was filled with idle hands, which the closing
of the Fair mo