the grass sward at the bottom he stopped
for an instant to look across at the jockey board.

Three men had just came out of the refreshment bar under the stand. They
were possessed of many things; gold of the bookmakers in their pockets,
and it's ever-attendant exhilaration in their hearts. One of them
had cracked a bottle of wine at the bar, as tribute to the exceeding
swiftness of Lucretia, for he had won plentifully. At that particular
stage there was nothing left but to talk it over, and they talked.
Crane, avaricious, unhesitating in his fighting, devoid of sympathy, was
not of the eavesdropping class, but as he stood there he was as much
a part of the other men's conversation as though he had been a fourth
member of the brotherhood.

"I tell you none of these trainers ain't in it with a gentleman
owner--when he takes to racin'. When a man of brains takes to runnin'
horses as a profesh, he's gen'rally a Jim Dandy." It was he of the
wine-opening who let fall these words of wise value.

"D'you mean Porter, Jim?" asked number two of the trio.

"Maybe that's his name. An' he put it all over Mister Langdon this
trip."

"As how?" queried the other.

"Last time he runs his mare she's got corns in her feet the whole
journey, an' all the time he owns the winner, Lauzanne, see?--buys him
before they go out. Then Langdon thinks The Dutchman's the goods, an'
buys him at a fancy price--gives a bale of long goods for him--I've got
it straight that he parted with fifteen thousand. Then the gentleman
owner, Honest John, turns the trick with Lucretia, an' makes The
Dutchman look like a sellin' plater."

"I guess Langdon'll feel pretty sick," hazarded number three.

"I'd been watchin' the game," continued the wine man, "an' soon's I saw
a move to-day from the wise guys in the ring, I plumped for the mare
'toot sweet."'

What an extraordinary thing manipulation was, Crane mused, as he
listened; also how considerable of an ass the public was in its
theoretical wisdom.

Then the three men drifted away to follow some new toy balloon of
erratic possibilities, and Crane wound through the narrow passage which
led to the paddock. There he encountered Langdon.

"He didn't run a very good horse, sir," began the Trainer.

"I thought otherwise," replied Crane, measuring the immediate vicinity
of listeners.

"I had to draw it a bit fine," declared Langdon, with apologetic
remonstrance.

"Running second is always bad business,