"I was crazy for a minute," said the Kid. "I thought you'd double-crossed me. I've cooled out since then; now I'm only sorry that you didn't know more about what your own horse could do. That tip made a tramp out of me, old-timer."
"Exackly what I hoped it would do, son," and Old Man Curry fairly beamed.
"What's that?" The cigarette fell from the Kid's fingers, and his lower jaw sagged. "You thought Elisha could win—and you went and touted me on to the other one?"
Old Man Curry nodded, smiling.
As the boy watched him, his expression changed to one of deep disgust. He dipped into his vest pocket and produced his silver stop watch. "Here's something you overlooked," he sneered. "Take it, and I'll be cleaned right!"
Old Man Curry sat down beside him, but the Kid edged away. "I wouldn't have thought it of you, old-timer," said he.
"Frank," said the old man gently, "you don't understand. You don't know what I was figgerin' on."
"I know this," retorted the Kid: "if it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have to go to Butte alone!"
"You've told her, then?"
"Last night."