“Block? That means supper, too.”
“Yes. You see, Jimmy, I’ve just got to give ’em all a try-out.”
“Of course,” he admitted. “But he won’t do. I’ll bet you a box of gloves against a box of cigars.”
“I won’t bet you,” she replied, laughing. “I’ve got a hunch that I’d lose.”
CHAPTER XIV
WHEREIN THE BROADWAY QUARTET EVENS UP AN
OLD SCORE
At his hotel the next day, about noon, J. Rufus got the promised wire. It consisted of only one word: “Razzoo.”
Alone, J. Rufus went out to the track, and on the race in which Razzoo was entered at average odds of ten to one, he got down six hundred dollars, reluctantly holding back, for his hotel bill, three hundred dollars—all he had in the world. Then he shut his eyes, and with large self-contempt waited for Razzoo to finish by lamplight. To his immense surprise Razzoo won by two lengths, and with a contented chuckle he went around to the various books and collected his winnings, handing to each bookmaker derogatory remarks calculated to destroy the previous entente cordiale.