On his way out, puffed with huge joy and sitting alone in the big automobile, he was hailed by a familiar voice.
“Well, well, well! Our old friend, J. Rufus!” exclaimed Harry Phelps, he of the natty clothes and the curly hair.
With Mr. Phelps were Larry Teller and Billy Banting and Yap Pickins.
“Jump in,” invited J. Rufus with a commendable spirit, forgiving them cheerfully for having lost money to him, and, despite the growl of protest from lean Short-Card Larry, they invaded the tonneau.
“You must be hitting them up some, Wallingford,” observed Mr. Phelps with a trace of envy. “I know they’re not furnishing automobiles to losers these days.”
“Oh, I’m doing fairly well,” replied Wallingford loftily. “I cleaned ’em up for six thousand to-day.”
The envy on the part of the four was almost audible.
“What did you play?” asked Badger Billy, with the eager post-mortem interest of a loser.
“Only one horse in just one race,” explained Wallingford. “Razzoo.”