The latter started as if stung, and crying under
his breath, "Salted car-horse!" drew his employer aside.
"Say," he said, pointing a finger, "who's that?"
"Skinner, the man I run."
Glass groaned. "His name ain't Skinner; that's 'Whiz' Long. Six
years ago I saw him win the Sheffield Handicap from scratch in
nine-three." Then, as Speed did not seem to be particularly
pressed, "Don't you understand, Wally? He's a pro; this is his
game!"
To which the younger man replied, serenely and happily, "It's
fixed."
"What's fixed?"
"The race. It' s all arranged--framed."
"Who framed it? How? When?"
"Sh-h! I did. Yesterday; by stealth; I fixed it."
"You win from 'Whiz' Long, and you can't run under fifteen?"
Wally nodded. "I told him that--it's all right."
"You told him?" Glass staggered. "It's all right? Say! Don't you
know he's the fastest, crookedest, cheatingest, double-
crossingest--why, he just came to feel you out!"
And Speed turned dizzy.
"And you fell for that old stuff!" Larry's voice was trembling
with anger and disgust.
Pages:
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228