Nothing of that disastrous sort happened, however, and his pet enemies, the quartet, having won from J. Rufus on Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, had by this time pooled their interests and constituted themselves Wallingford’s regular bookmaking syndicate. Their only fear on Friday morning, after Phelps had received his wire from Boston, was that Wallingford would not care to bet that day, since the horse which had been given out was that notorious tail-ender, Whipsaw! They invaded J. Rufus’ apartments as soon as they got the wire, and were relieved to find that Wallingford was still firm in his allegiance to the National Clockers’ Association.
They were a little surprised, however, to find Blackie Daw at breakfast with Wallingford, but they greeted that old comrade with great cordiality, coupled with an inward fear that he might interfere with their designs upon Wallingford.
“You haven’t been making a book against J. Rufus on the day’s races, have you?” inquired Phelps.
“Not yet,” said Blackie, laughing, “but I’m willing. What’s he on?”
“Whipsaw,” interposed Wallingford.
Blackie laughed softly.
“I don’t know the horse,” he said, “but I just seem to remember that he’s the joke of the track.”
“No,” explained Larry; “he’s too painful to be a joke.”
“What odds do you expect to get, Wallingford?” asked Blackie, reaching for his wallet.