The Bald-faced Kid grinned.
"Everybody ain't as close-mouthed as you are, old-timer. Engle, O'Connor, and Jimmy Miles split a quart of wine in the restaurant under the grand stand after the last race to-day and the waiter hung around and got an earful. O'Connor was against the deal from the jump. He says nobody can win any money on a Bible horse without queering his luck. Engle knows you wouldn't sell to him so he sent Miles after you and told him what to say. He'd like to run that horse in his colours next Saturday and win the Handicap with him."
"You're sure he ain't intending to lay him up with the books and have him pulled, or something?"
"Not at this track, old-timer. You see, Engle is just the least little bit leery of Pettigrew. They talked it all over and decided that it wouldn't be healthy for him to buy a four-time winner and make a bad showing with him the first time out. He wants the horse for a gambling tool, all right enough, but he won't be foolish enough to do any cheating with Eliphaz at this track. Engle says himself that he don't dare take a chance—not with old Pettigrew laying for him—on general principles. Engle thinks that if he buys the black horse and wins a good race with him first time out it may pull the wool over Pettigrew's eyes. He says Eliphaz is a cinch in the Handicap next Saturday."
Old Man Curry fingered his beard for some time in silence.
"Blast the luck!" said he suddenly. "Why didn't I know Miles was arepresentin' Al Engle?"
"You'd have said three thousand, eh?"
"No," said Old Man Curry. "No, son. Fifteen hundred."
"Fifteen hundred! You're crazy!"
"Mebbe I am, but Solomon, he says that even a fool, if he keeps his mouth shut tight enough, can pass for a wise man.... Frank, I wish you'd go out and find Jimmy Miles. Sort of hint to him that if he comes back here he won't be throwed out on his head. Do that for me, and mebbe you won't lose nothing by it."