say that. It looks bad, kid. Here, don't
take it so hard. Get a cinch on yourself," he added, as he watched
Garrison's blank eyes and quivering face.

"I'm all right. I'm all right," muttered Billy vaguely, passing a hand
over his throbbing temples.

Drake was silent, fidgeting uneasily.

"Kid," he blurted out at length, "it looks as if you were all in. Say,
let me be your bank-roll, won't you? I know you lost every cent on Sis,
no matter what they say. I'll give you a blank check, and you can fill
it out--"

"No, thanks, Jimmy."

"Don't be touchy, kid. You'd do the same for me--"

"I mean it, Drake. I don't want a cent. I'm not hard up. Thanks all the
same." Garrison's rag of honor was fluttering in the wind of his pride.

"Well," said Drake, finally and uncomfortably, "if you ever want it,
Billy, you know where to come for it. I want to go down on the books as
your friend, hear? Mind that. So-long."

"So-long, Jimmy. And I won't forget your stand."

Garrison continued staring at the floor. This, then, was the reason why
the sporting world had cut him dead; for a horse-poisoner is ranked in
the same category as that assigned to the horse-stealer of the Western
frontier. There, a man's horse is his life; to the turfman it is his
fortune--one and the same. And so Crimmins had testified that he had
permitted him, Garrison, to see Sis alone!

Yes, the signals were set dead against him. His opinion of Crimmins
had undergone a complete revolution; first engendered by the trainer
offering him a dishonorable opportunity of fleecing the New York
pool-rooms; now culminated by his indirect charge.

Garrison considered the issue paramount. He was furious, though so
seemingly indifferent. Every ounce of resentment in his nature had been
focused to the burning-point. Now he would not leave New York. Come what
might, he would stand his ground. He would not run away. He would fight
the charge; fight Waterbury, Crimmins--the world, if necessary. And
mingled with the warp and woof of this resolve was another; one that he
determined would comprise the color-scheme of his future existence; he
would ferret out the slayer of Sis; not merely for his own vindication,
but for hers. He regarded her slayer as a murderer, for to him Sis had
been more than human.

Garrison came to himself by hearing his name mentioned. Behind him two
young men were seated at a table, evidently unaware of his identity, for
they were exchanging their