Just then a rough-looking fellow entered, and in response to a signal seated himself at a table in the rear end of the place.
“Hello, Steve,” said the sport, advancing to the table and taking a seat, “are the races going your way this season?”
“About the same old thing,” was the careless response.
Both men glanced keenly about, and the next moment were engaged in earnest conversation.
Nick strolled around toward the back part of the room, stupidly gazing at the handsome paintings hung upon the walls.
But the men, evidently very suspicious, dropped their voices to whispers whenever he came near them.
“This won’t do,” thought Nick. “I must find out what those fellows are talking about.”
Every effort to overhear them, however, failed, and he finally gave it up.
After a long talk, during which Nick saw some money pass from the sport to his companion, the former left the place.
“Well, Steve,” said one of the helpers about the saloon, “have you got any pointers about the race to-morrow?”