“I hear Stanley Downs has lost twenty thousand dollars belonging to the bank,” remarked Dan, after a short pause.
“Oh, you heard that, eh? Where did you get it?”
“Oh, come off, Hank! What am I on earth for? To walk around with plugs in my ears and blinders on? I can tell you something more about that. Downs is keeping it from his uncle that he’s shy the twenty thousand, and he hopes to get it from this cup race. Isn’t that right?”
“You are not far off, Dan,” admitted Swartz.
“You bet I’m not. Well, he isn’t going to get that twenty thousand, because Burnham, with his Columbiad upstairs, will rush over the finish line while Stanley Downs and his Thunderbolt will be a hundred miles behind, wondering why he ever entered.”
“You’ll get some of the purse, eh, Dan?”
“I’ll be the mechanician. Of course I’ll get some. You don’t think I’m going to take chances of being all broken up for nothing.”
“But won’t you get more than your mechanician’s percentage?” persisted Swartz.
Dan Saltus had been leaning against the doorpost, where he could look up and down the street while conversing with Swartz. He swung around abruptly at the last remark, and there was an expression of anger as well as fear in his eyes.
“What do you mean by that, Hank? Who said I’d get more than my regular bit as a mechanician? Why should I?”