nths before had left there stranded. Everything was
overcrowded. Business was dead, and his search was unavailing. Then
he took up "touting" as a profession. He rotated between the various
"merry-go-rounds," which were open all seasons of the year. The tout's
stock devices--the "bank-roll" game, the "phoney" ticket, the "jockey's
cousin"--he worked with better success than most; but, as a rule, his
method was simple. He sought the acquaintance of such as he thought
might be "persuaded," and by showing confidence where they were
doubtful, knowledge where their own was lacking, he usually managed to
get some four or five men to make bets during the day. Those who won
were grateful, and generally paid him well for his "information." The
losers got an explanation of "how it was" and "a sure thing for the
next."

One thing, however, must be said for Checkers. He never "touted" a
horse unless he thought it had a best chance of winning. That is, if
there were five horses in a race, and Checkers had five men "on his
string," he never descended to the common practice of getting each one
of the five to bet on a different horse, and thus "land a sure winner."

All five were certain to have the same chance, and to stand or fall
upon Checkers' judgment.

Some weeks later it was that I first met him, at Washington Park, Derby
Day. He told me afterward that the minute he saw me he knew me for a
"mark" and tried to "get next."

Yet, for all, Checkers was not innately bad. He was weak, I 'll admit,
and cruelly mistaken; but he had a simple, lovable nature, and a
natural longing for higher things. A case in point: I learned by
chance that he never missed a Sunday at church since the death of his
wife. He had no predilection, and I espied him one day in my own
sanctuary. When questioned about it he told me these facts, and
confessed to the pleasure he found in going.

"I don't know," he said; "I always enjoy it. It's quiet and cool;
everybody 's well dressed, and I like to sit there, close my eyes,
think over my troubles, and listen to the music. And then,
again"--here his voice grew soft--"I 've a feeling that it pleases Pert
to know that I 'm there. She liked me to go to church, and I think she
knows it now when I go; do n't you? I would n't take a great deal of
money and think that she did n't know."

What Pert must have thought of his actions weekdays was perhaps a fair
question; but it was one that I had the