National Clockers’ Association.
“I fell for this,” he explained, after she had read it with a sarcastic smile; “poked a fI’muth in a letter cold, and let ’em have it.”
The Beautiful One regarded him with pity.
“Honest, Pinky,” she commented, “your soft spot’s growing. If you don’t watch out the specialists’ll get you. Do you suppose that if these cheap touts had such hot info. as that, they’d peddle it out, in place of going down to the track and coming back with all the money in the world in their jeans?”
“Sure not,” said he patiently. “They don’t know any more about it than the men who write the form sheets; but we’ve tried everything from stable-dope to dreaming numbers and can’t get one of them to run for us. So I’m taking a chance that the National Strong Arm Association might shut their eyes in the dark and happen to pass me the right name without meaning it.”
“There’s some sense to that,” admitted the Beauty reflectively. “You’ll get the first wire to-morrow morning, won’t you? Just my luck. It’s matinée day and I’d like to see you try it.”
“That’s all right,” said J. Rufus. “I’ll have the money to show you as a surprise at dinner.”
The Beauty hesitated.
“I—I’m engaged for dinner to-morrow,” she stated, half reluctantly.
He was silent a moment.