"O.K., Joseph. Now, let's be real honest. Those three longshore turtles belong to you, don't they?"
"Yes."
"And right now you wouldn't even want to see them run, would you? In fact, you really want that they shouldn't run."
"Yes."
"All right, Joseph. Call off your noisemakers and toss the Head Steward a thought. Tell him you're scratching your entries."
"But that won't stop the people from losing their money."
"Natch. So next you broadcast a thought that because of this terrible, grievous error you are refunding their money out of your own pocket since the Track Association will not or is not obliged to."
He turned to his pair of rattleheads and snarled, "All right. Shut up!"
A mental silence fell that was like the peace of rest after a busy day. As Barcelona was tossing his cancellation at the Steward and preparing to make a full and plausible explanation to the gambling instinct of the Kentucky Derby crowd, I considered the matter carefully:
"Let's see," I thought. "He wants 'em not to run and so he can't complain to me if they do not. I didn't fix the race, so Lieutenant Delancey can't accuse me of that. That makes everybody happy, and I win!"