me."

"You did very well."

"How about some money--I haven't seen the color of a roll since you
put that fool Baskinelli into the game. Ain't you coming across?"

"Certainly; here," said Owen, handing over enough to sate even the
predatory greed of Hicks. "Now, what I want you to do is to find me
some one among your horse racing friends who is down and out enough to
take a little cash job--at certain slight risks?"

"Yes--what?"

"I want a good rider on a wild horse. He could make a thousand dollars
in an afternoon if the horse should happen to get wild at the right
time and do the right thing."

"Hm'm," mused Hicks. "I wonder if Eddie Kaboff has still got his
livery stable down on Tenth avenue. We might go see."

After ten minutes' walk Hicks brought up in front of a bill-plastered
door in a fence. He held it open for Owen and they passed across a
vacant lot to a large dilapidated-looking stable at the further end.

The short, dark man who sat in a tilted chair against the doorway and
puffed lazily at a pipe, seemed to embody the spirit of the building
and the business done there.

He was a man who had once--in the days of racing--been called a
"sport." He might still be called "horsey" and would consider the term
a compliment. But Eddie Kaboff's fame and fortune had both dwindled
since the good old betting days when little swindling games larded the
solid profits of crooked races. One by one his thoroughbreds had given
up their stalls to truck horses, just as Eddie's diamond studs had
given place to plain buttons.

His beady black eyes watched the two newcomers on their way across the
lot, but he gave no sign of recognition until Hicks and Owen reached
the door.

"Hello, Eddie," said Hicks.

Kaboff got up slowly and extended a flabby hand to his acquaintance.
He was introduced to Owen, who let Hicks do the talking.

"What's new, Eddie?"

"Nuthin'."

"Still got that wild horse you never was able to sell?"

"Yep."

"Can you still manage him yourself?"

"I guess I could, but he ain't safe to take among traffic."

Hicks stepped close to Kaboff, talking in rapid whispers. The little
man turned white.

"No, no; I'm too old for that kind of game," he said.

Owen drew from his pocket a roll of yellowbacks--the biggest roll
Eddie Kaboff had seen since the days of "easy money."

"This much to try it," said Owen, "and as much again if you make good."

Kaboff's glance wavered a moment bet