Sandy got Ricks out of the firing-line, around the corner of the courting-box. His face was crimson with mortification, but it never occurred to him to be angry.
"What brought you back?" he asked huskily.
"Hosses."
"Are you going to drive this afternoon?"
"Yep. One of young Nelson's colts in the last ring. Say," he added, "he's game, all right. Me and him have done biz before. Know him?"
"Carter Nelson? Oh, yes; I know him," said Sandy, impatient to be rid of his companion.
"Me and him are a winnin' couple," said Ricks. "We plays the races straight along. He puts up the dough, and I puts up the tips. Say, he's one of these here tony toughs; he won't let on he knows me when he's puttin' on dog. What about you, Sandy? Makin' good these days?"
"I guess so," said Sandy, indifferently.
"You ain't goin' to school yet?"
"That I am," said Sandy; "and next year, too, if the money holds out."