“Well, that was just a sample,” said Barrows. “That’s a pretty good Yale crew, but there’s no knowing positively, in spite of the odds, that it’s good enough to beat Harvard, even in a straight race. As it stands, with us to pull the ropes for Harvard, Yale hasn’t got a chance. I haven’t got any sentiment in a thing of this sort. I’d just as soon see Yale win as Harvard—but the odds are on Yale, and there’s more profit in throwing the race to Harvard.”
“I don’t think much of those odds,” said Svenson suddenly. “Look here—why can’t we shake them up a little bit? The Harvard crew is going to have its last time row to-morrow. You know the way they’ve been talking. They’re going to row in public, and let any one at all hold a watch on them. Well, let’s give the people something to talk about.”
“Say,” cried Dennison, “that’s a great idea. We ought to be able to jack those odds up to four or five to one. The Harvard men won’t do any betting at all at any odds, and the Yale fellows will be so cocksure that they’ll give any sort of odds we ask for. You’ve got a real head on you, Svenson.”
He got up and left the cabin to get a breath of fresh air on deck. Svenson, an able captain, who had of late found it difficult to get a ship because of certain things he had done that were far from being to his credit, though he had managed, so far, to prevent the loss of his master’s certificate, looked after him contemptuously.
“How about that bird?” he asked Barrows. “I don’t like his looks.”
“Neither do I,” said Barrows. “But we need his money. Harding sent him along.”
Barrows, like Harding, was a professional gambler, but he was a more determined fellow, and, in some ways, less of a villain. His appearance was not unattractive, his eyes being his worst feature. They were set close together, and small; and a student of faces, looking at him, would have distrusted him on their evidence alone.
“This Dennison,” he said, “is one of those crooks who pretends he isn’t crooked. He’s always looking for something for nothing—but the other fellow’s got to do the dirty work. He’s the sort who would go in on a wiretapping game, to steal money from a pool room, and then squeal to the police when they took his own roll away from him. But we can’t get along without him.”
“I suppose not,” said Svenson. “All right—we’ll let him in.”
They shook hands on it, and then went on deck to rejoin Dennison. But he had decided that the yacht was too dirty for his fastidious taste, and had gone ashore to the hotel.