“All right,” he said, taking the seven hundred dollars and stuffing the money in his pocket. “You don’t want to lay a little more, do you, at that odds?”
“No,” declined Wallingford. “I’m unlucky when I press a bet.”
Rosey S. put up a very good race for place, but dropped back in the finish to a chorus of comforting observations from the quartet, who, to make matters more aggravating, had played the winner for place at a good price.
Jake Block came to them right after the race and handed over the money. He was evidently in a great hurry. Wallingford started to talk to him, but Block moved off rapidly, and it dawned upon J. Rufus that the horseman wanted to “shake” him so as not to have to invite him to dinner with himself and Beauty Phillips.
Sunday morning he went around to that discreet young lady’s flat for breakfast, by appointment. “Mrs. Phillips” met him with unusual warmth.
“I’ve been missing you,” she stated with belated remembrance of certain generous gifts. “Say,” she added with sudden indignation, “you may have my share of Block for two peanuts. What do you suppose he did? Offered me five dollars to boost him with Beauty. Five dollars!”
“The cheap skate!” exclaimed Wallingford sympathetically.
The Beauty came in and greeted him with a flush of pleasure.
“Well,” she said, “I got it, all right. The horse runs in the fourth race Friday, and its name is Whipsaw.”