he had been edging in that direction himself.
"I'll squander a hundred on the goat at the first odds we see."

They went into the betting-shed. Rosey S. was quoted at six to one.
Even as they looked the price was rubbed, and ten to one was chalked
in its place. The laughter of the quartet was long and loud as they
pulled money from their pockets.

"The first odds goes, Big Pink," Banting reminded him.

Wallingford produced his hundred dollars, and quietly noted that the
eyes of the quartet glistened as they saw the size of the roll from
which he extracted it. They had not been prepared to find that he
still had plenty of money. Jake Block passed near them, and
Wallingford hailed him.

"Hold stakes for us, Jake, on a little private bet?" he asked.

"Sure thing," acquiesced Jake. "What is it?"

"These fellows are trying to win out dinner-money on me. They're
giving me six hundred to one against Rosey S."

Block glanced up at the board and noted the increased odds, but it was
no part of his policy to interfere in anything.

"All right," he said, taking the seven hundred dollars and stuffing
the money in his pocket. "You don't want to lay a little more, do you,
at that odds?"

"No," declined Wallingford. "I'm unlucky when I press a bet."

Rosey S. put up a very good race for place, but dropped back in the
finish to a chorus of comforting observations from the quartet, who,
to make matters more aggravating, had played the winner for place at a
good price.

Jake Block came to them right after the race and handed over the
money. He was evidently in a great hurry. Wallingford started to talk
to him, but Block moved off rapidly, and it dawned upon J. Rufus that
the horseman wanted to "shake" him so as not to have to invite him to
dinner with himself and Beauty Phillips.

Sunday morning he went around to that discreet young lady's flat for
breakfast, by appointment. "Mrs. Phillips" met him with unusual
warmth.

"I've been missing you," she stated with belated remembrance of
certain generous gifts. "Say," she added with sudden indignation, "you
may have my share of Block for two peanuts. What do you suppose he
did? Offered me five dollars to boost him with Beauty. _Five
dollars!_"

"The cheap skate!" exclaimed Wallingford sympathetically.

The Beauty came in and greeted him with a flush of pleasure.

"Well," she said, "I got it, all right. The horse runs in the fourth
race Friday, and its name is Whipsaw."