l HE SUNDAY FICTION MAGAZINE, MAY 28, 1916.
Around th' first
turn, oV Deveraax
goes V th' front."
tch. He's like Foot in one way: he 'Merry' goes straight up! He knows Deve-
t keep money in his pocket. It burns raux can't untrack hisse'f in th' mud.
tegs, an' he's just got f gamble. But an' if it rains all night th' track'll be a sea
esemblance don't go no further. Sam's by post time. He gets reckless an' sets in
there by th' half-mile iole in th' morn- a stud poker game with Billy Lyons an'
with his little ol' trusty alarm clock th' Rosebud Kid. It ain't half an hour
Ln off th' early workouts, before th' till Sam's busted wide open, an' when he
t begins poundin' his ear. Them sure- goes outside it's quit rainin'!
e owners don't nut nothin' over that " 'Merry' touts his horse t' everybody
I ain't wise f; he knows w
libl
"'Yuh better not!' Sam yells. 'Yuh'll he can't do no good fer th' Jockey C'lut
have t' breeze, sure!- by tippin' Niggerfoot off f Casey. He'll
"But Foot's gone. He rubs th' figgers be hop soon enough. It won't help none t'
off th' losm" favorite ticket he holds, an' got th' Kid all chewed up, neither: Cap'a
fills it in with Deveraux at 400 t' t: Some there t' stop riots, not start 'em. Foot
o' th' books has 'im as high as 4,0. I seen automatically rules hisse'f off fer life, an'
th' ticket, an' believe me. it's th' most im- that's enough fer 'im.
posin' piece o' pasteboard over was wrote
on a race track. All th' books that cut in "It's a mile dash fer 3-year-ol's an' up-
hen a boss that'll, listen f 'im. but it ain't a bit o use; at th' meetin' couldn't begin f cash it at ward that ain't win at th' meetin"; with a
r-ady as well as th' guy that trains 'im. he's hollered 'wolr about his string so
4 is, he can't wait fer th' ones he often that no one pays any attention f 'im,
is due: lie's bettin' on what he
has a chance in every race, an" try-
make long shots win, at that.
th' next day all he's got t' bet is a
half th' face value!
"'The's quite a bunch o' us goes up inta
th" stand t' see what comes off, an' mebbe
measly five-case note. Johnny Humphrey keep th' Irish boys from bitin' th' Foot f
gives 'im 300 f 1 out o' friendship, an
pieces. A coupla 'Pinks' is stickin' around.
'spend no time pawin' over a dope
lookin' up past performances, either;
ikes th' bookies' figgers as gospel.
'oofs strictly a favorite player. He willin f take a marker fer more, but Sam too, f stop any roughhouse that starts.
big field thirteen starters. When I final
ly take a look at th' bunch linin' up In
front o' th' stand 1 see Deveraux millin'
around there lookin' like a stake hoss. I
say.i t' m'se'f: 'That ain't no 400 t' 1 shot;
that ol' insoc' is sure right, this time,' .so
won't make no finger bets. Deveraux fer all th' regulars has been tipped off. I takes th' hunch f go down an' put a
ain't been entered fer a long time, an' his
last out he couldn't beat a fat man. Th'
These here bookies ain't crazy,' he chalk handlers soon has 'im around 300
They ain't givin' nothin' away. If all over th' ring, tryin' f J.alanee their
3 tortg shots has a chance f win, they books. Sam's bitin' chunks out o th pad-
e t be long shots.'
am argues:
Th', ain't no one hoss so much better'n
thers in a big field that they got li-
l t" make 'im even money; not with you got any kale ."at all? This hoss
t luck liable f break against 'im.'
they're both right, I reckon. Them
ies don't make a practice o' bein'
stable not while they're on th' block
again, as Sam says, favorites gets
an' o l'Oap Forrest knows the's somethin'
doin". Yuh can't fool that ol' bird much!
"Just ay th' bosses is paradin' past th'
judges. Foot comes up. He looks sick.
pikin' bet on 'im f show. When I get
down there I finds I ain't th' only one
that's got th' nudge. Looks like every
sharpshooter cn th' track has took a crack
dock posts when Foot shows up;
-
"'Hey, Foot!" Sam yells, grabbin' 'im
like a gay-cat coppin' a handout. 'Have
We don't blame 'im none, fer th' best he at 'im. He's been rubbed f 40, 10 an' 4,
can look fer is t' be warned away from th' an' I strings a ten-case note across th'
tracks fer a year or two. Ol' Casey has a lxard at them odds. Time I get back t'
mine
"'Wait a minute!" Font interrupts 'm.
'Do you think he'll win'."
"'Think he'll win!' says Sam. all ex
cited. 'I know he'll win. Why, Foot, he's
grin a foot wide when he sees 'im.
" 'Had ye any throuble gettin' th' coin,
lad?' he yips. Niggerfoot slides inta th'
end seat, next th' aislff
"'Ssh!' he whispers. 'Not so loud.
Lissen! I been over t' th 'stables. 1 know
what's a-goin' f win this race!'
my place again Dwyer's got 'em off t' a
swell start.
"Around th' first turn ol' Deveraux
goes t' th' front. He's ft good hoss that
d:ty, an' they don't never head 'im. Ho
just backs in! Talk about noise; they
never is a long shot wins that creates so
much excitement. He's th' longest priced
about as often as they win. Near as th' biggest
W rigger it. th' books has all th best
. no matter what yuh bet on. 1 never ties it.'
o no 'Home fer Indigent Bookmak- ring.
' ' 'S'nuff !' yelps Niggerfoot. 'That set-
An' away he starts fer th bettin
ith which wise side dissertation I
,tily agreed, but hastened the rumi
! Bay Hoss back to his muttons.
)h. yes. Well, as I says, Sam's got
" 'Do ye. soT says Casey. 'Slip me th'
monev Oi w n on th' last wan. an Oi'Il hoss that ever shows th' way home at Oak-
sind ye down f make a small bet on yer land. All that gang is whoopin' an' laugh-
ch'ice." in', an' yuh could 'a' heard Merriwether In
"Foot hands 'im th' ducat. Casey's 'Frisco. Compared t' th' Foot, though,
friends, rubberin' over his shoulder, don't Sam's a dummy. Believe me, that boy's
say a word; they can't speak. Neither can rootin'! I hate 't' think what would 'a
finif bet, an' if you're goin' t' lay some Casey. After one look at th' pasteboard happened if Deveraux lost.
one ' he just closes one fist on it an' th' other on "Casey don't turn loose o' his holt,
" 'Lay some one!' Foot breaks in. 'Say, Foot. Foot takes a slant at Casey's face though. He ain't a-goin' f take no more
race. Sam, I've been tryin' all day t' lay off o' an changes nis prayer; rrom men on, ne s cnances; ne s a-goin i casn mat ticket
hisse'f, an' he takes Foot with 'im. Down
"'Wait a minute!' Sam hollers, nailin'
Foot 'I want in on this. I only got a
raux all prepped up fer this
raux likes a mile an' a fast track, some one. An' he explains th' fix he's in. pullin fer Deveraux f win!
h weather's been fine fer days. Th' " "I was just a-goin' t' put 'im on that "Ol Cap Forrest is standin close, glar- tn stairs i in Dettin ring goes tn three
t Wfore, Sam's over here in 'Frisco hoss o' Lucky's, but since you like your in' at th' Kid. That kind o' rough stuff is tads, haiilin' Foot an' near beatin' 'm V
1 elxty iron men sewed up safe in his beetle that makes it a cinch fer 'im f lose, bad fer th' track, an it am t no boost fer aeatn rer joy. in wnoie crowa roners t
rshirt. He's plannin' t' bet it all on I might as well give ol' Casey a ticket th" 'Pinks,' neither. Still, yuh can f blame see th run; even th boobs is wise that
toss next day. 'on th' nose.'. He'd do hell show f his grandchildren while Im em; uiey cant go up t a guy an ten ira wnwuuu unusuai urnu u uj.ru aion5
y, fer when Sam thinks he's right, at it; I write that broad on DeverauX!' f beat it ir they ain t got notnin on im. i nna out wnai u is.
cuts no ice. An' away he hustles t' get th prevailin' They ain't never got th' goods on Foot "This ticket s one o George Rosen , an'
uat about 8 o'clock it starts f rain. odd- yet. Course, Cap's wise by this time, but (Continued on f'fiffr 11)