circle, where bedlam was not only
reigning but pouring. Flashbulbs were popping all over the place,
cameramen were screaming for just one more of the jockey, the owner, the
fabulous Tapwater. The officials were vainly striving to quiet the
tumult so they could award the prize. I found Pending worming his way
out of the heart of the crowd.

"Did you get it?" I demanded.

He nodded, thrust the knobbed baton into my hand.

"You substituted the normal one?"

Again he nodded. Hastily I thrust the lightening rod out of sight into
my valise, and we elbowed forward to share the triumphant moment. It was
a great experience. I felt giddy with joy; I was walking on little pink
clouds of happiness. Security was mine at last. And Joyce, as well.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" cried the chief official. "Your attention,
please! Today we have witnessed a truly spectacular feat: the setting of
a new track record by a champion racing under a tremendous handicap. I
give you a magnificent racehorse--_Tapwater_!"

"That's right, folks!" I bawled, carried away by the excitement. "Give
this little horse a great big hand!"

Setting the example, I laid down the bag, started clapping vigorously.
From a distance I heard Pat Pending's agonized scream.

"Mr. Mallory--the suitcase! Grab it!"

I glanced down, belatedly aware of the danger of theft. But too late.
The bag had disappeared.

"Hey!" I yelled. "Who swiped my bag? Police!"

"Up there, Mr. Mallory!" bawled Pat. "Jump!"

I glanced skyward. Three feet above my head and rising swiftly was the
valise in which I had cached not only our winnings but Pat's
gravity-defying rod! I leaped--but in vain. I was _still_ making feeble,
futile efforts to make like the moon-hurdling nursery rhyme cow when
quite a while later two strong young men in white jackets came and
jabbed me with a sedative ...

* * * * *

Later, when time and barbiturates had dulled the biting edge of my
despair, we assembled once again in my office and I made my apologies to
my friends.

"It was all my fault," I acknowledged. "I should have realized Pat
hadn't readjusted the rod when I placed it in my bag. It felt lighter.
But I was so excited--"

"It was _my_ fault," mourned Pat, "for not changing it immediately. But
I was afraid someone might see me."

"Perhaps if we hired an airplane--?" I suggested.

Pat shook his head.

"No, Mr. Mallory. The rod was set to cancel 118 pounds. The