“I’m the owner of Red Wing,” he explained, “bred him and trained him myself. I know he’ll be lucky if he gets the place. You’re backing him in thousands to WIN. What do you know about him?”
“Know he will win,” said Carter.
The veteran commissioner of the club stand buttonholed him. “Mr. Carter,” he begged, “why don’t you bet through me? I’ll give you as good odds as they will in that ring. You don’t want your clothes torn off you and your money taken from you.”
“They haven’t taken such a lot of it yet,” said Carter.
When Red Wing won, the crowd beneath the box, the men in the box, and the people standing around it, most of whom had followed Carter’s plunge, cheered and fell over him, to shake hands and pound him on the back. From every side excited photographers pointed cameras, and Lander’s band played: “Every Little Bit Added to What You’ve Got Makes Just a Little Bit More.” As he left the box to collect his money, a big man with a brown mustache and two smooth-shaven giants closed in around him, as tackles interfere for the man who has the ball. The big man took him by the arm. Carter shook himself free.
“What’s the idea?” he demanded.
“I’m Pinkerton,” said the big man genially. “You need a body-guard. If you’ve got an empty seat in your car, I’ll drive home with you. From Cavanaugh they borrowed a book-maker’s hand-bag and stuffed it with thousand-dollar bills. When they stepped into the car the crowd still surrounded them.
“He’s taking it home in a trunk!” they yelled.
That night the “sporting extras” of the afternoon papers gave prominence to the luck at the races of Champneys Carter. From Cavanaugh and the book-makers, the racing reporters had gathered accounts of his winnings. They stated that in three successive days, starting with one hundred dollars, he had at the end of the third day not lost a single bet, and that afternoon, on the last race alone, he had won sixty to seventy thousand dollars. With the text, they “ran” pictures of Carter at the track, of Dolly in her box, and of Mrs. Ingram in a tiara and ball-dress.
Mother-in-law WILL be pleased cried Carter. In some alarm as to what the newspapers might say on the morrow, he ordered that in the morning a copy of each be sent to his room. That night in his dreams he saw clouds of dust-covered jackets and horses with sweating flanks, and one of them named Ambitious led all the rest. When he woke, he said to Dolly: “That horse Ambitious will win to-day.”