ve remained _in status quo_ for the
rest of his natural life. In the sunny window of his musical store,
surrounded by zitherns, auto-harps, dulcimers, psalteries, sackbuts, and
other instrument's of melody, the advent of Nelson produced the effect
of a sudden and unexpected discord. Felix distrusted him from the very
first.

The "proposition" was simplicity itself. It appeared that Mr. Nelson was
in the employ of the Western Union Telegraph Company, which had just
opened a branch office for racing news at 27 East Twenty-second Street.
This branch was under the superintendence of an old associate and
intimate friend of Nelson's by the name of McPherson. Assuming that they
could find some one with the requisite amount of cash, they could all
make their everlasting fortunes by simply having McPherson withhold the
news of some race from the pool rooms long enough to allow one of the
others to place a large bet upon some horse which had in fact already
won and was resting comfortably in the stable. Felix grasped the idea
instantly. At the same time he had his suspicions of his visitor. It
seemed peculiar that he, an inconspicuous citizen who had already lost
$50,000 in gambling houses, should be selected as the recipient of such
a momentous opportunity. Moreover, he knew very well that gentlemen in
gambling houses were never introduced at all. He thought he detected the
odor of a rodent. He naively inquired why, if all these things were so,
Nelson and his friend were not already yet millionaires two or three
times? The answer was at once forthcoming that they _had_ been, but also
had been robbed--unmercifully robbed, by one in whom they had had
confidence and to whom they had entrusted their money.

"And now we are poor, penniless clerks!" sighed Nelson, "and if we
should offer to make a big bet ourselves, the gamblers would be
suspicious and probably refuse to place it."

"I think this looks like a schvindling game," said Felix shrewdly. So it
did; so it was.

By and by Felix put on his hat and, escorted by Nelson, paid a visit to
the "branch office" at 27 East Twenty-second Street. Where once solitude
had reigned supreme and the spider had spun his web amid the
fast-gathering dust, all was now tumultuous activity. Fifteen busy
operators in eye shades and shirt sleeves took the news hot from the
humming wires and clicked it off to the waiting pool rooms.

"Scarecrow wins by a neck!" cried one, "Blackbird second!"

"M