Chub hesitated a moment as though he would like to stay for the interview, but finally he left, passing Hawley on the stairs.
Dirk Hawley owned one of the largest gambling-dens in Phœnix, and was reputed to be worth a mint of money. He wore fierce diamonds, had a racing-stable and cut a wide swath among the gambling fraternity. He stepped blandly into Matt's room, and took his sizing for a moment with keen, shifty eyes.
"You don't know me, I reckon," said he loudly, "but it's dollars to doughnuts I ain't a stranger to you for all that. Ask anybody and they'll tell you Dirk Hawley's a good sport to tie to. Rise to that? Dirk Hawley never goes back on his friends. I've come here to get acquainted with you, King, and to make a friend of you." He put out his hand. "Shake," he added.
"I don't care to shake," answered Matt. "We're not traveling the same way, Mr. Hawley, and I don't know what good it would do for us to get acquainted."
Hawley drew down the lid of his right eye and chuckled.
"No? Well, there's nothing flatterin' about that, but I like your frankness, hang me if I don't. Now, I'm going to drop down in one of these nice easy chairs and tell you just how much more I can do for you in a day than Woolford could in a month."
Picking out the biggest chair, he sank into it; then, extracting a gold-mounted cigar-case from his pocket, he extended it toward Matt. Matt shook his head. Hawley chuckled again, extracted a fat cigar and slowly lighted it.
"I'm no hand for beating about the bush, King," he proceeded, studying the lad as he talked; "when I know what I want, I go right ahead and make my play, straight from the shoulder. Ain't that right? Sure. Now, I reckon you know I ain't one of these goody-goody sports. Woolford plays the racing-game for the game itself, but I play it for that—and for somethin' else. If it was only the game that made a hit with me, I wouldn't be ridin' around in a ten-thousand-dollar motor-car, or makin' a pleasure out o' business, same as I do. Understand? Who was it started Paddy Lee, the fastest hundred-an'-twenty-yard man that ever come down the cinder-path? Why, me. I discovered Paddy, and he's over in England now, taking money away from the Britishers hand over fist. Candy, just candy. Now, say, mebby you ain't next, but I've been watchin' you ever since you hit Phœnix. That's right. I've got an eye for a likely youngster, and if you want a friend to push you, for a part of the stakes you can pull down, why not try me out? This is the first time I ever went at a man like this—mostly, they come to me, an' are tickled to death if I take any notice of 'em. But here I am, flat-footed, askin' you to let me take your athletic future in my hands and make you a world-beater. What do you say?"
Matt was not expecting anything like this. For a moment it took his breath. Misinterpreting the boy's silence, Hawley fairly radiated genial confidence.
"Catchin' on, first clatter out of the box!" he murmured admiringly. "Always knew you had a head on you. And what good's a runner or a bicycle-racer without a head? Tush! From the minute a chap is on his mark till he comes in a winner, he has to use his brains as well as his heels. Now, King, if you and I hook up, it's a professional I'm going to make you; see? You'll go in for big things and shake the biggest plum-tree. My idees o' what's right and proper, though, have got to govern. You're a young hand, while I cut my teeth on a hand-book at the Sheepshead races. I become your manager, right from the snap of the pistol, and I begin by keepin' you out of small-fry contests. You can't race in the Phœnix-Prescott meet. I'll just send you to a friend o' mine up in Denver to put you in trainin' for a big bicycle-race at the Coliseum in Chicago; an' jest to ease up your feelin's for scratchin' your entry in the Phœnix-Prescott side-show, I tucks five hundred of the long green in your little hand and sends you north to-morrow. What say?"