is to me?" he asked sharply. "I
don't know you nor Mr. Waterbury."

"Hell you don't!" rapped out Crimmins. "Quit that game. I may have done
things against you, but I've paid for them. You can't touch me on that
count, but I can touch you, for I know you ain't the major's nephew--no
more than the Sheik of Umpooba. I'm ashamed of you. Tryin' on a game
like that with your old trainer, who knows you--"

Garrison caught him fiercely by the arm. His old trainer! Then he was
Billy Garrison. Memory was fighting furiously. He was on fire. "Billy
Garrison, Billy Garrison, Billy Garrison," he repeated over and over,
shaking Crimmins like a reed. "Go on, go on, go on," he panted. "Tell me
what you know about me. Go on, go on. Am I Garrison? Am I? Am I?"

Then, holding the other as in a vise, the thoughts that had been
writhing in his mind for so long came hurtling forth. At last here was
some one who knew him. His old trainer. What better friend could he
need?

He panted in his frenzy. The words came tripping over one another,
smothering, choking. And Crimmins with set face listened; listened as
Garrison went over past events; events since that memorable morning he
had awakened in the hospital with the world a blank and the past a blur.
He told all--all; like a little child babbling at his mother's knee.

"Why did I leave the track? Why? Why?" he finished in a whirlwind of
passion. "What happened? Tell me. Say I'm honest. Say it, Crimmins;
say it. Help me to get back. I can ride--ride like glory. I'll win for
you--anything. Anything to get me out of this hell of deceit, nonentity
namelessness. Help me to square myself. I'll make a name nobody'll be
ashamed of--" His words faded away. Passion left him weak and quivering.

Crimmins judicially cleared his throat. There was a queer light in his
eyes.

"It ain't Dan Crimmins' way to go back on a friend," he began, laying a
hand on Garrison's shoulder. "You don't remember nothing, all on account
of that bingle you got on the head. But it was Crimmins that made you,
Bud. Sweated over you like a father. It was Crimmins who got you out
of many a tight place, when you wouldn't listen to his advice. I ain't
saying it wasn't right to skip out after you'd thrown every race and the
Carter; after poisoning Sis--"

"Then--I--was--not--honest?" asked Garrison. He was horribly quiet.

"Emphatic'ly no," said Crimmins sadly. He shook his head. "And you don't
remember how you came to Dan Crim