I would call a plunger with the lid on.

He never bets more than two dollars on a race and even then he
keeps wishing he had it back.

Pete had me nailed to the corner of Broadway and 42d Street for
about ten minutes when fortunately Bunch Jefferson rolled up in his
new kerosene cart and I needed no second invitation to hop aboard
and give Pete the happy day-day!

"Whither away, Bunch?" I asked, as the Bubble began to do a Togo
through the fattest streets in the town.

"I thought I'd run up and get the girls and take 'em for a spin out
to the Belmont Park races," Bunch came back.

"Did you telephone them?" I inquired.

"No, but I told Alice this morning that if I got through at the
office in time I'd take her to the track. We can call for Peaches
on the way across town," was Bunch's program.

"Whisper, Bunch!" I suggested; "let's do the selfish gag for once
and leave the wives at home. I haven't bet a nickle on a skate for
two years, but my little black man has the steering wheel to-day
and I'm going to fall off the sense wagon and break a five dollar
bill."

"I'm with you, John," chuckled Bunch, and half an hour later we
were on our way | to the track, after having sent notes to our
wives that important business kept us chained to the post of duty,
but if they would meet us at the Hotel Astor at 7 p.m. we'd all
dine together.

Bunch had just tied his Bubble to a tree at the track and was in
the act of giving it a long cool drink of gasolene and some cracked
oats, when Flash Harvey bore down on us and made a touch for the
turn-out.

"Say, Bunch!" chirped Flash, "lend me the choo-choo for half an
hour, will you? I have my sister and a dream cousin of ours from
Hartford here this aft. and I'm eager to show them how I can pound
a public road with a rowdy-cart. I'll take good care of the
machine and be back in two hours, honest, Bunch!"

Flash being an old friend of ours Bunch had to fall for the spiel
and loaned him the Bubble forthwith.

Ten minutes later we were so busy listening to the sure-things
falling from the eager tongues of the various friends we met that
we quite forgot all about Flash and the busy barouche.

The first cinch-builder we fell over was Harry McDonough, the
inventor of the stingless mosquito now in use on his Jersey farm.

Harry has the mosquito game down so fine that he's going to take a
double sextette of them into vaudeville next season.

He has trained these twelve skee