back the little mare?" a thin voice squealed. It was the
'Pout.

"Back nothin'! The last time out she couldn't untrack herself; an' today
she comes, without any pull in the weight, and wins in a walk from The
Dutchman; and didn't he beat her just as easy the other day?"

Belle Langdon looked into Crane's face, and her eyes were charged with
a look of reciprocal meaning. Crane winched. How aggressively obnoxious
this half-tutored girl, mistress of many gay frocks, could make herself!
There was an implied crime-partnership in her glance which revolted him.
Dick Langdon must have talked in his own home. Crane's conscience--well,
he hardly had one perhaps, at least it was always subevident; to put
it in another way, the retrospect of his manipulated diplomacy never
bothered him; but this gratuitous sharing in his evil triumph was
disquieting. The malicious glitter of the girl's small black eyes
contrasted strongly with the honest, unaffected look that was forever in
the big tranquil eyes of Allis.

They were just at the head of the steps, and the Tout was saying to the
fat expostulator: "I could have put you next; I steered a big bettor
on--he won a thousand over the mare. I saw Boston's betting man havin'
an old-time play, an' I knew it was a lead-pipe cinch. He's a sure thing
bettor, he is; odds don't make no difference to him, the shorter the
better--that's when his own boy's got the mount."

"It's all right to be wise after the race," grunted the fat man.

"G'wan! the stable didn't have a penny on Lucretia last time; an' what
do you suppose made her favorite to-day?" queried the Tout, derisively.
"It took a bar'l of money," he continued, full of his own logical
deductions, "an' I'll bet Porter cleaned up twenty thousand. He's a
pretty slick cove, is old 'Honest John,' if you ask me."

The girl at Crane's side cackled a laugh. "He's funny, isn't he?" she
said, nodding her big plumed hat in the direction of the man-group.

"He's a talkative fool!" muttered the Banker, shortly. "The steps are
clear on the other side, Miss Langdon, you can get down there. I've got
to go into the paddock; you'll excuse me."

Being vicious for the fun of the thing had never appealed to Crane; he
raced as he did everything else--to win. If other men suffered, that
was the play of fate. He never talked about these things himself, almost
disliked to think of them. He turned his back on Belle Langdon and went
down the right-hand steps. On