Exactly! The more weight a horse is bearing, the slower it runs. That's
the purpose of handicapping. But if a horse that was supposed to be
carrying more than a hundred pounds was actually only carrying
_ten_--Well, you see?"

Sandy paused, breathless. I stared at her with a gathering respect.

"Never underestimate the power of a woman," I said, "when it comes to
devising new and ingenious methods of perpetrating petty larceny.
There's only one small fly in the ointment, so far as I can see. How do
we convince some racehorse owner he should become a party to this gentle
felony?"

"Oh, you don't have to," smiled Sandy cheerfully. "I'm already
convinced."

"You? You own a horse?"

"Yes. Haven't you ever heard of Tapwater?"

"Oh, sure! That drip's running all the time!"

Joyce tossed me a reproving glance.

"This is a matter of gravity, Donald," she stated, "and you keep
treating it with levity. Sandy, do you _really_ own Tapwater? He's the
colt who won the Monmouth Futurity, isn't he?"

"That's right. And four other starts this season. That's been our big
trouble. He shows such promise that the judges have placed him under a
terrific weight handicap. To run in next week's Gold Stakes, for
instance, he would have to carry 124 pounds. I was hesitant to enter him
because of that. But with Pat's new invention--" She turned to Pat, eyes
glowing--"he could enter and win!"

Pat said uncertainly, "I don't know. I don't like gambling. And it
doesn't seem quite ethical, somehow--"

I asked Sandy, "Suppose he ran carrying 124. What would be the probable
odds?"

"High," she replied, "_Very_ high. Perhaps as high as forty to one."

"In that case," I decided, "it's not only ethical, it's a moral
obligation. If you're opposed to gambling, Pat, what better way can you
think of to put the parimutuels out of business?"

"And besides," Sandy pointed out, "this would be a wonderful opportunity
to display your new discovery before an audience of thousands. Well,
Pat? What do you say?"

Pat hesitated, caught a glimpse of Sandy's pleading eyes, and was lost.

"Very well," he said. "We'll do it. Mr. Mallory, enter Tapwater in the
Gold Stakes. We'll put on the most spectaceous exhibition in the history
of gambilizing!"

* * * * *

Thus it was that approximately one week later our piratical little crew
was assembled once again, this time in the paddock at Laurel. In case
you're an inland abori