"Eight seconds!" repeated the little man at length.
"Sure! Depends on how he feels, of course."
Berkeley Fresno, in the corner, snickered audibly, at which the trainer scowled at him.
"Think he can't do it, eh? Well, he's there four ways from the ace."
Seeing no evidence that his statement failed to carry conviction in other quarters at least, Glass went further. It was so easy to string these simple-minded people that he could not resist the temptation. "Didn't you never hear about the killin' he made at Saratoga?" he queried.
Willie started, and his hand crept slowly backward along his belt. "Killin'! Is that his game?"
"Now, get me right," explained the former speaker. "He breaks trainin', and goes up to Saratoga for a little rest. While he's there he wins eight thousand dollars playin' diabolo."
"Playin' what?" queried Stover.
"Diabolo! He backs himself, of course."
Glass took an imaginary spool from his pocket, spun it by means of an imaginary string, then sent it aloft and pretended to catch it dexterously. The cowboys watched him with grave, uncomprehending eyes.