“Good! We’ll place a few little bets here and there to-morrow among the confiding village people, providing, of course, they don’t insist on being shown the coin. Altogether, it ought to be a pretty nice little rake-off.”
The man at the bar seemed to have had enough gin. With unsteady gait and leering eye, he passed the table and made his way toward the door. As he reached it, he caught his foot and nearly fell. The next moment he had lurched out into the darkness.
On the pavement outside a surprising transformation took place. The fellow straightened up suddenly, and, with a sweep of his hand, pushed his hat up from where it hung over one ear. Then he started down the street at a rapid walk, which was almost a run. There was not the slightest sign of intoxication in his gait.
“By Jove!” he muttered. “That’s their game, is it? Thank Heaven I’ve found it out! What a pair of blacklegs!”
He glanced swiftly at a near-by clock. It was almost eight.
“Gee!” he exclaimed, under his breath. “I’ve got to catch him before he leaves for the meeting.”
The next instant he turned into one of the gates of Vanderbilt, dashed up the drive, and cleared the steps at a bound. Upstairs he went, lickety-split, and reached Kenny’s floor just as the quarter back opened the door and stepped out.
“Wait a minute, Jack,” he said quickly. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“The deuce you have!” Kenny growled. “Who in thunder are you, anyhow?”
For an instant Dick had forgotten the disguise. No wonder the quarter back didn’t know him!