Young Wallingford Part 19

"I'll die rich if your wad only holds out till then," returned Sunset, laughing.

With but very little hope J. Rufus returned to the grand-stand, where royalty sat like a warm and drowsy garment upon Beauty Phillips; for Beauty was on the stage a queen, and outside of working-hours a princess. Jake Block was still there, and making himself agreeable to a degree that surprised even himself, and he was there yet when Bologna, true to form, came home contentedly following the field. He joined them again at the close of the sixth race, when Carnation, a horse which the Beauty had picked because of his name, was just nosed out of the money, and he walked with them down to the carriage gate.

As Block seemed reluctant to leave, he was invited to ride into the city in the automobile J. Rufus had hired by the month, and accepted that invitation with alacrity. He also accepted their invitation to dinner, and during that meal he observed:

"I think, Miss Phillips, I'll go around and see _The Pink Canary_ to-night, and after the show I'd like to have you and your mother and Wallingford take supper with me, if you have no other engagement."

"Sure," said Beauty Phillips, too eagerly for Wallingford's entire comfort; and so it was settled.

Wallingford, although he had seen the show until it made him deathly weary, went along and sat with Block in a stage box. During one of the dull spots the horseman turned to his companion very suddenly.

"This Beauty Phillips could carry an awful handicap and still take the Derby purse," he announced. "She beats any filly of her hands and age I ever saw on a card."

"She certainly does," a.s.sented J. Rufus, suave without, but irritated within.

"I see you training around with her all through the meet. Steady company, I guess."

"Oh, we're very good friends; that's all," replied Wallingford with such nonchalance as he could muster.

"Nothing in earnest, then?"

"Not a thing."

"Then I believe I will enter the handicap myself, that is if you don't think you can haul down the purse."

"Go in and win," laughed J. Rufus, concealing his trace of self-humiliation. He had no especial interest in Beauty Phillips, but he did not exactly like to have her taken away from him. It was too much in evidence that he was a loser. However, he was distinctly "down and out" just now, for Beauty Phillips quite palpably exerted her fascinations in the direction of that box, and Jake Block was most obviously "hooked;" so much so that at supper he revealed his interest most unmistakably, and parted from them reluctantly at the curb, feeling silly but quite determined.

Wallingford made no allusion to Miss Phillips' capture of the horseman, even after they had reached the flat, where he had gained the rare privilege of calling, and where the Beauty's "mother" always remained in the parlor with them, awake or asleep.

Rather sheepishly, J. Rufus produced from his pocket a newspaper clipping of the following seductive advertis.e.m.e.nt, which he pa.s.sed over to the Beauty:

BOSTON.

Yesterday we slipped across, for the benefit of our happy New York and Brooklyn subscribers, that juicy watermelon, _Breezy_, a ten to one shot and the play on this section of hot dog was so strong it put a crimp in the bookies as deep as the water jump. To-morrow we have another lallapalooza at long odds that will waft under the wire and have the blanket on about the time the field is kicking dust at the barrier. This peacherino has been under cover throughout the meeting, but to-morrow it will be ripe and you want to get in on the killing.

Will wire you the name of this pippin for five dollars; full service twenty dollars a week.

NATIONAL CLOCKERS' a.s.sOCIATION.

"I fell for this," he explained, after she had read it with a sarcastic smile; "poked a fi'muth in a letter cold, and let 'em have it."

The Beautiful One regarded him with pity.

"Honest, Pinky," she commented, "your soft spot's growing. If you don't watch out the specialists'll get you. Do you suppose that if these cheap touts had such hot info. as that, they'd peddle it out, in place of going down to the track and coming back with all the money in the world in their jeans?"

"Sure not," said he patiently. "They don't know any more about it than the men who write the form sheets; but we've tried everything from stable-dope to dreaming numbers and can't get one of them to run for us. So I'm taking a chance that the National Strong Arm a.s.sociation might shut their eyes in the dark and happen to pa.s.s me the right name without meaning it."

"There's some sense to that," admitted the Beauty reflectively.

"You'll get the first wire to-morrow morning, won't you? Just my luck.

It's matinee day and I'd like to see you try it."

"That's all right," said J. Rufus. "I'll have the money to show you as a surprise at dinner."

The Beauty hesitated.

"I--I'm engaged for dinner to-morrow," she stated, half reluctantly.

He was silent a moment.

"Block? That means supper, too."

"Yes. You see, Jimmy, I've just got to give 'em all a try-out."

"Of course," he admitted. "But he won't do. I'll bet you a box of gloves against a box of cigars."

"I won't bet you," she replied, laughing. "I've got a hunch that I'd lose."

CHAPTER XIV

WHEREIN THE BROADWAY QUARTET EVENS UP AN OLD SCORE

At his hotel the next day, about noon, J. Rufus got the promised wire.

It consisted of only one word: "Razzoo."

Alone, J. Rufus went out to the track, and on the race in which Razzoo was entered at average odds of ten to one, he got down six hundred dollars, reluctantly holding back, for his hotel bill, three hundred dollars--all he had in the world. Then he shut his eyes, and with large self-contempt waited for Razzoo to finish by lamplight. To his immense surprise Razzoo won by two lengths, and with a contented chuckle he went around to the various books and collected his winnings, handing to each bookmaker derogatory remarks calculated to destroy the previous _entente cordiale_.

On his way out, puffed with huge joy and sitting alone in the big automobile, he was hailed by a familiar voice.

"Well, well, well! Our old friend, J. Rufus!" exclaimed Harry Phelps, he of the natty clothes and the curly hair.

With Mr. Phelps were Larry Teller and Billy Banting and Yap Pickins.

"Jump in," invited J. Rufus with a commendable spirit, forgiving them cheerfully for having lost money to him, and, despite the growl of protest from lean Short-Card Larry, they invaded the tonneau.

"You must be hitting them up some, Wallingford," observed Mr. Phelps with a trace of envy. "I know they're not furnis.h.i.+ng automobiles to losers these days."

"Oh, I'm doing fairly well," replied Wallingford loftily. "I cleaned 'em up for six thousand to-day."

The envy on the part of the four was almost audible.

"What did you play?" asked Badger Billy, with the eager post-mortem interest of a loser.

"Only one horse in just one race," explained Wallingford. "Razzoo."

"Razzoo!" snorted Short-Card Larry. "Was you in on that a.s.sa.s.sination?

Why, that goat hasn't won a race since the day before Adam ate the apple, and the jockey he had on to-day couldn't put up a good ride on a street car. How did you happen to land on it?"