Chapter XVI

IN WHICH WALLINGFORD AND BLACKIE DAW ENJOY THEMSELVES

On Monday, nearing noon, Wallingford dropped into a flashy cafe just off Broadway, where he knew he would be bound to find some one of his quartet. He found Short-Card Larry there alone, his long, thin fingers clasped around a glass of buttermilk.

"Hello, Wallingford," he said, grinning. "Going out to the track to-day?"

"I'm not going to miss a race till the meeting closes," asserted Wallingford. "I've a good one to-day that I'm going to send in a couple of hundred on."

"What is it?" asked Larry.

"Governor."

"Governor!" snorted Larry. "Who's in the race with him?" He drew a paper to him and turned to the entries. "Why," he protested, "there isn't a plug in that race that can't come back to hunt him."

"That's all right," said Wallingford. "I'm for the National Clockers' Association, and I'm going to play their picks straight through."

"Here's a match," offered Larry scornfully. "Set fire to your money and save yourself the trouble of the trip."

"Maybe you'd like to save it from the flames. What odds will you give me?"

This being an entirely different proposition, Larry began to think much better of the horse.

"Five to one," he finally decided, after studying over the entries again. "Don't know whether that's the track odds or not. But you can take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," agreed Wallingford, and tossed his money on the bar.

Mr. Teller drew a check-book from his pocket, and Wallingford, glancing at the top of the stub as Larry filled out the blank for a thousand, noted with satisfaction the splendid balance that was there. Evidently the gang was well in funds. They had, no doubt, been quite busy of late.

"Of course you'll cash that," requested Wallingford, not so much on account of this particular bet as to establish a precedent.

"Sure," agreed Teller; "although I'll only have to deposit it again."

"I'm betting the two hundred you don't, remember," said Wallingford, and they signed a memorandum of the bet, which they deposited with the rock-jawed proprietor, after that never-smiling gentleman had nonchalantly opened his safe and cashed Larry's check.

On Tuesday morning, Governor having lost and Short-Card Larry having imprudently exulted to his friends over the two-hundred-dollar winning, Mr. Teller came around to Wallingford's hotel with his pocket full of money to find there Badger Billy and Mr. Phelps, both of whom had come on similar business.

"I suppose you got his coin on to-day's sure thing," observed Larry with a scowl, he being one to whom a bad temper came naturally.

"Three hundred of it," said fat Badger Billy triumphantly. "To-day he has a piece of Brie _fromage_ by the name of Handicass."

"Which ought to be called Handcase," supplemented Phelps, and the two threw back their heads and roared. "The cheese is expected to skipper home about the time the crowd realizes they're off." And they all enjoyed themselves in contemplation of what was going to happen to Handicass.

"Got any more?" demanded Larry.

"Not this morning," returned Wallingford, accepting his role of derided "come-on" with smiling fortitude. "I want to save some for to-morrow's bet."

"You see," explained Billy Banting, purring up his red cheeks with laughter, "Wallingford's playing a system of progression. He hikes the bet every day, expecting to play even in the finish."

"I see," said Larry, grinning; "but don't you fellows hook all this easy money. Count me in for a piece of to-morrow's bet."

He had a chance. Handicass ran to consistent form with all the other "picks"--except the one accident, Razzoo--of the National Clockers' Association, and on Wednesday, Wallingford bet four hundred on the "information" which that concern wired to him and to Mr. Phelps. On that day, too, having received at breakfast-time a report from Beauty Phillips that the Whipsaw horse was still "meant," he wrote careful instructions to Blackie Daw, then held his thumbs and crossed his fingers and touched wood and looked at the moon over the proper shoulder, and did various other things to keep Fate from sending home one of those tips as an accidental winner on either Wednesday or Thursday.

Nothing of that disastrous sort happened, however, and his pet enemies, the quartet, having won from J. Rufus on Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, had by this time pooled their interests and constituted themselves Wallingford's regular bookmaking syndicate. Their only fear on Friday morning, after Phelps had received his wire from Boston, was that Wallingford would not care to bet that day, since the horse which had been given out was that notorious tail-ender, Whipsaw! They invaded J. Rufus' apartments as soon as they got the wire, and were relieved to find that Wallingford was still firm in his allegiance to the National Clockers' Association.

They were a little surprised, however, to find Blackie Daw at breakfast with Wallingford, but they greeted that old comrade with great cordiality, coupled with an inward fear that he might interfere with their designs upon Wallingford.

"You haven't been making a book against J. Rufus on the day's races, have you?" inquired Phelps.

"Not yet," said Blackie, laughing, "but I'm willing. What's he on?"

"Whipsaw," interposed Wallingford.

Blackie laughed softly.

"I don't know the horse," he said, "but I just seem to remember that he's the joke of the track."

"No," explained Larry; "he's too painful to be a joke."

"What odds do you expect to get, Wallingford?" asked Blackie, reaching for his wallet.

"Hold on a minute," said Phelps hastily. "You don't want to butt in on this, Daw. We've been making book for J. Rufus all week, and it's our money. You hold stakes."

"Don't you worry," snapped Wallingford, suddenly displaying temper; "there will be enough to go around. I'll cover every cent you four have or can get," and he pushed his chair back from the table. "This is my last day in the racing game, and I'm going to plunge on Whipsaw. I've turned into cash every resource I had in the world. I've even soaked my diamonds and watch to get more. Now come on and cover my coin." From his pocket he produced a thick bundle of bills of large denomination. "What odds do I get? The last time Whipsaw was in a race he opened at twelve to one and I ought to get fifteen at least to-day. Here's a thousand at that odds."

"Not on your life!" said Short-Card Larry. "I wouldn't put up fifteen thousand to win one on any game."

"What'll you give me, then? Come on for this easy money. Give me ten?"

No, they would not give him ten.

"Give me eight?"

They hesitated. He immediately slid the money in his pocket.

"You fellows are kidding. You don't want to make book for me. I'll take this coin out to the track and get it down at the long odds."

His display of contemptuous anger decided them.

"I'll take my share," asserted Short-Card Larry, he of the quick temper, and among them the four made up the money to cover Wallingford's bet.

"Here's the stakes, Blackie," said Wallingford, passing over the money toward him. "You're all willing he should hold the money?"

They were. They knew Blackie.

"Moreover," observed Yap Pickins meaningly, "we'll keep close to him."

"Here's another thousand that you can cover at five to one," offered Wallingford, counting out the money.

Now they were as eager as he.

"We'll take you," said Teller, "but I'll have to go out and get more mezuma."

"All right. Bring all you can scrape together and I'll cover the balance of it at two to one."

For just one moment they were suspicious.

"Look here," said Billy Banting, "do you know something about this horse?"

"If I did I wouldn't tell. Don't you know that I can get from fifteen to twenty at the track? Why do you suppose I want to make such a sucker bet as this? It's because I'd rather have your money than anybody else's; because I want to _break_ you!"

He was fairly trembling with simulated anger now.

"If that's the case you'll be accommodated," said Teller with an oath. "Come on, boys; we'll bring up a chunk of money that'll stop all this four-flush conversation."

Mr. Phelps, having already "produced to his limit," stayed with Wallingford while the others went out. First of all, they dropped in at a quiet pool-room where they were known, and made inquiries about Whipsaw. They were answered by a laugh, and an offer to "take them on for all they wanted at their own odds," and, reassured, they scattered, to raise all the money they could. They returned in the course of an hour and counted down a sum larger than Wallingford had thought the four of them could control. He was to find out later that they had not only converted their bank accounts and all their other holdings into currency, but had borrowed all their credit would stand wherever they were known. Wallingford, covering their first five thousand with one, calmly counted out an amount equal to one-half of all the rest they had put down, passed it over to Blackie to hold, then flaunted more money in their faces.

"This is at evens if you can scrape up any more," he offered sneeringly. "Go soak your jewelry."

Before making that suggestion he had noted the absence of Larry's ring and of Billy's studded watch-charm. Phelps was the only one who still wore anything convertible, a loud cravat-pin, an emerald, set with diamonds.

"Give you two hundred against your pin," said he to Phelps, and the latter promptly took the bet.

"Are you all in?" asked Wallingford.

They promptly acknowledged that they were "all in."

"All right, then; we'll have a drink and go out to the track. You'll want to see this race, _because I win_!"

They were naturally contemptuous of this view, even hilariously contemptuous, and they offered to lend Wallingford money enough, after the race, "to sneak out of town and hide."

While they were taking the parting drink Blackie Daw slipped into Wallingford's bedroom for just one moment "to get a handkerchief." There he found, mopping his brow, a short, thick-set chap known as Shorty Hampton, a perfectly reliable and discreet betting commissioner.

"I was just goin' to duck," growled Shorty in a gruff whisper. "I've got two or three other parties to see. I've been suffocating in this damned little room for the last hour, waitin'."

"All right. Here's the money," said Blackie, and handed him _half the stakes which had just been intrusted to his care_. "Spread this in as many pool-rooms as you can; get it all down on Whipsaw."

"Three ways?" asked Shorty.

"Straight, every cent of it," insisted Daw. "No place or show-money for us to-day."

At the track they saw Beauty Phillips alone in the grand-stand, and joined her. Wallingford introduced Blackie, and they chatted with her a few moments, then Wallingford took him away. He did not care to have Jake Block see them with her until after the fourth race. As they moved off she gave Wallingford a quick, meaning little nod.

True to Pickins' threat the quartet kept very close indeed to Daw, but, during the finish of the rather exciting third race, Blackie, manoeuvering so that Wallingford was just behind him, slipped from his pocket the remaining half of the stake-money.

"Well, boys," said Wallingford blandly, the money safely tucked away in his own pocket. "I still have a little coin to wager on Whipsaw. Do you want it?"

"No; we're satisfied," returned Larry dryly.

"All right, then," said Wallingford. "I'm going down and get it on the books."

Harry Phelps sighed.

"It's too bad to see that easy money going away from us, Pink," he confessed.

Jake Block spent but little time that afternoon in the grand-stand by the side of Beauty Phillips and her mother. From the beginning of the racing he was first in the stables and then in the paddock with an anxious eye. He was lined up at the fence opposite the barrier for the start of the fateful fourth, and he stood there, after the horses had jumped away, to watch his great little Whipsaw around the course. But Beauty Phillips was not without company. Wallingford sauntered up at the sound of the mounting bell and sat confidently by her.

"Did you get it all down, Jimmy?" she asked.

"Every cent," said he, wiping his brow nervously. "Did you?"

"Mother and I are broke if Whipsaw don't win," she confessed with dry lips. "What do you suppose makes Mr. Block look up here with such a poison face every two or three minutes?"

Wallingford chuckled hugely.

"The odds," he explained. "I've cut them to slivers. I bet all mine and Blackie's money with the Phelps crowd, then turned around and bet all ours and theirs again. Say, it's murder if I lose. Not even a fancy murder, either."

Blackie Daw, attended by three of his guard, came over to join them, Blackie evidencing a strong disposition to linger in the rear, for he was taking a desperate chance with desperate men. If Whipsaw lost he had his course mapped out--down the nearest steps of the grand-stand and out to the carriage-gate as fast as his legs would carry him. There, J. Rufus' automobile was to be waiting, all cranked up and trembling, ready to dart away the moment Blackie should jump in. Just as Blackie and the others joined Wallingford and Beauty Phillips, Larry Teller came breathlessly up from the betting-shed.

"There's something doing on that Whipsaw horse," he declared excitedly. "He opened at twenty to one--and in fifteen minutes of play--either somebody that knows something--or a wagonload of fool-money--had backed him down to evens. Think of it! Evens!"

There was a sudden roar from the crowd, more like a gigantic groan than any other sound. They were off! One horse was left at the post, but it was not Whipsaw. Two others trailed behind. The other five were away, well bunched. At the quarter, three horses drew into the lead, Whipsaw just behind them. At the half, one of the three was dropping back, and Whipsaw slowly overtaking it. Now his nose was at her flanks; now at the saddle; then the jockeys were abreast; then the white jacket and red sleeves of Whipsaw's rider could be seen to the fore of the opposing jockey, with the two leaders just ahead. At the three-quarters, three horses were neck and neck again, but this time Whipsaw was among them. Down the stretch they came pounding, and then, and not until then, did Whipsaw, a lithe, shining little brown streak, strike into the best stride of which he was capable. A thousand hoarse watchers, as they came to the seven-eighths, roared encouragement to the horses. Whipsaw's name was much among them, but only in tones of anger. Men and even women ran down to the rail and stood on tiptoe with red faces, shrieking for Fashion to come on, begging and praying Fashion to win, for Fashion carried most of the money; and the shrieking became an agony as the horses flashed under the wire, Whipsaw a good, clean half length in the lead!

As the roaring stopped in one high, abrupt wail, Beauty Phillips, who never knew emotion or excitement, suddenly discovered, to her vast surprise, that she was on her feet! that she was clutching her throat for its hoarseness! that she was dripping with perspiration! that she was faint and weak and giddy! that her blood was pounding and her eyeballs hurt; and that she had been, from the stretch down, jumping violently up and down and shrieking the name of Whipsaw! Whipsaw! Whipsaw! Whipsaw!

A frenzied hand grabbed Blackie Daw by the elbow.

"Duck, for God's sake, Blackie!" implored the shaking voice of Billy Banting. "Go down to the old joint on Thirty-third Street and wait for us. We'll split up that stake and all make a get-away."

"Not on your life!" returned Blacked calmly, and pulled Wallingford around toward him by the shoulder. "I shall have great pleasure in turning over to Mr. Wallingford the combined bets of the Broadway Syndicate against that lovely little record-breaker, Whipsaw."

"It's a good horse," said Wallingford with forced calmness, and then he began to chuckle, his broad shoulders shaking and his breast heaving; "and it was well named. I fawncy the Broadway Syndicate book will now go out of business--and with no chance to welch."

"All we wise people knew about it," Blackie condescendingly explained to the quartet. "You see, I am running the National Clockers' Association."

Before the voiceless Broadway Syndicate was through gasping over this piece of news, Jake Block came stalking through the grand-stand. Though elated over his victory and flushed with his winnings, he nevertheless had time to cast a bitter scowl in the direction of Beauty Phillips.

"The next time I hand any woman a tip you may cut my arm off!" he declared. "I'm through with you!"

"Who's that?" asked Larry Teller, glaring after the man who had mentioned the pregnant word "tip."

"Jake Block, the owner of Whipsaw," Wallingford was pleased to inform him.

"It's a frame-up!" shouted Billy Banting.

A strong left hand clutched desperately at Blackie Daw's coat and tore the top button off, and an equally strong right hand grabbed into Blackie Daw's inside coat-pocket. It was empty, Pickins found, just as a stronger hand than his own gripped him until he winced with pain.

"What have you done with the stakes?" shrieked Pickins, trying to throw off that grip, but not turning.

"What's it your business? But, if you want to know, all that stake-money was bet in the shed and in the books about town--on Whipsaw to win!"

The broad-shouldered man who had edged up quite near to them during the race, and who had interfered with Pickins, now stepped in front of the members of the defunct Broadway Syndicate. They only took one good look at him, and then fell back quite clamily. In the broad-shouldered giant they had recognized Harvey Willis, the quite capable Broadway policeman and friend of Wallingford, off for the day in his street clothes.

"Run along, little ones, and play tricks on the ignorant country folks from Harlem and Flatbush," advised Beauty Phillips as she took Wallingford's arm and turned away with him. "You've been whipsawed!"

She was exceptionally gracious to J. Rufus that evening, but for the first time in many days he was extremely thoughtful. A vague unrest possessed him and it grew as the Beauty became more gracious. He guessed that he could marry her if he wished, but somehow the idea did not please him as it might have done a few weeks earlier. He liked the Beauty perhaps even better than before, but somehow she was not quite the type of woman for him, and he had not realized it until she brought him face to face with the problem.

"By the way," he said as he bid her good night, "I think I'll take a little run about the country for a while. I'm a whole lot tired of this man's town."