“But you can't take a strange horse into their stable, an' him sick,” objected the Trainer.
“Right you are, Dick. But you could take the sickness there, if you had a boy with the sabe.”
“I was thinkin' of that,” said Langdon, reflectively; “I was wonderin' if that's what the Boss meant.”
“Sure thing—that's his way; he never wants to stand in for none of the blame, but he likes to feel sure that he's goin' to win.”
“It looks a bit like it, damn me if it don't; an' I believe he was givin' me a pointer about the proper boy for the job, too. He said Shandy would get at a horse quick enough if he was paid for it.”
“There you are; what more do you want? Would you have Crane get out on the housetop an' shout to you to go an' cruel Porter's mare? He's slick, he is, an' if it can be done you've got a great chance.”
“I'm a poor man,” whined Langdon, “an' I can't take no chances on loosin' ten thousand, if it can be helped.”
“It's got to be done right away, 'cause it'll take a couple of days to get the mare coughin'.”
“I told Shandy to come here,” said the Trainer; “he ought to be turnin' up soon. When you hear him knock, just slip into that other room, an' leave the door open a little so that you can hear what takes place. God knows what that young imp wouldn't swear if a fellow had no witnesses. I think he's comin' here to-night to ask me to pay him to do some dirty job, an' I won't do it, see?” and he winked at Faust. “He's a bad boy,” said the Bookmaker, in a tone of mock condemnation.
“There he is now,” declared Langdon. “I hear a step on the gravel. Quick, slip into the room; he'll be peepin' through the windows; he's like a fox.”