“It may have been luck; if Lauzanne would only try, something tells me he'd win,” contended the girl.
“And somethin' tells me he wouldn't try a yard,” answered Dixon, in good-humored opposition. “But I don't think it'll make no difference in the odds we get whether we back the stable or Lucretia alone; they won't take no stock in the Chestnut's prospects.”
So Dixon made a little pilgrimage among the pencilers. He was somewhat dismayed and greatly astonished that these gentry also had a somewhat rosy opinion of Lucretia's chances. Her good gallop in the Brooklyn Handicap had been observed by other eyes than Crane's. Ten to one was the best offer he could get.
Dixon was remonstrating with a bookmaker, Ulmer, when the latter answered, “Ten's the best I'll lay—I'd rather take it myself; in fact, I have backed your mare because I think she's got a great chance; she'll be at fours race day. But I'll give you a tip—it's my game to see the owner's money on,” and he winked at the Trainer as much as to say, “I'll feel happier about it if we're both in the same boat.”
“It'll be on, sure thing, if I can get a decent price.”
“Well, you go to Cherub Faust; he'll lay you longer odds. I put my bit on with him at twelve, see? If I didn't know that you an' Porter was always on the straight I'd a-thought there was somethin' doin', an' Faust was next it, stretchin' the odds that way. How's the mare doin—is she none the worse?” Ullmer asked, a suspicious thought crossing his mind.
“We're backin' her—an' money talks,” said Dixon, with quiet assurance.
“Well, Faust is wise to somethin'—he stands in with Langdon, an' I suppose they think they've got a cinch in The Dutchman. Yes, that must be it,” he added, reflectively; “they made a killin' over Diablo, an' likely they got a good line on The Dutchman through him in a trial. But a three-year-old mare that runs as prominent in the big Handicap as Lucretia did, will take a lot of beatin. She's good enough for my money.”
Thanking him, Dixon found Faust, and asked of him a quotation against Porter's stable.
“Twelve is the best I can do,” answered the Cherub.