"Whipsaw!" exclaimed Wallingford. "He's stringing you."

"No, he isn't," she declared positively. "It was one o'clock last
night before I got him thawed out enough to give up, and I had to let
him hold my hand, at that," and she rubbed that hand vigorously as if
it still had some stain upon it. "He told me all about the horse. He
says it's the one good thing he's going to uncover for this meeting.
He tried Whipsaw out on his own breeding-farm down in Kentucky,
clocking him twice a week, and he says the nag can beat anything on
this track. Block's been breaking him to run real races, entering
against a lot of selling-platers, with instructions to an iron-armed
jockey to hold in so as to get a long price. Friday he intends to send
the horse in to win and expects to get big odds. I'm glad it's over
with. We promised to go out to Claremont this afternoon with Block,
but that settles him. To-morrow I'm going out with you."

J. Rufus shook his head.

"No, you mustn't," he insisted. "You must string this boy along till
after the race Friday. He might change his mind or scratch the horse
or something, but if he knows you have a heavy bet down, and he's
still with you, he'll go through with the program."

"I can't do it," she protested.

He turned to her slowly, took both her hands, and gazed into her eyes.

"Yes, you can, Beauty," he said. "We've been good pals up to now, and
this is the last thing I'll ever ask of you."

She looked at him a moment with heightening color, then she dropped
her eyes.

"Honest, Pinky," she confessed, "sometimes I do wish you had a lot of
money."

CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH WALLINGFORD AND BLACKIE DAW ENJOY
THEMSELVES

On Monday, nearing noon, Wallingford dropped into a flashy cafe just
off Broadway, where he knew he would be bound to find some one of his
quartet. He found Short-Card Larry there alone, his long, thin fingers
clasped around a glass of buttermilk.

"Hello, Wallingford," he said, grinning. "Going out to the track
to-day?"

"I'm not going to miss a race till the meeting closes," asserted
Wallingford. "I've a good one to-day that I'm going to send in a
couple of hundred on."

"What is it?" asked Larry.

"Governor."

"Governor!" snorted Larry. "Who's in the race with him?" He drew a
paper to him and turned to the entries. "Why," he protested, "there
isn't a plug in that race that can't come back to hunt him."

"That's all right," said Wallingford. "I'm for t