am of intelligence lighted the straying eyes; instantly the
jockey took his cue.

"Oh!" said he, loudly, "you mean in the _stretch_! Yeh, he had a
swell chance till then--goin' nice, and all, but the bumping took the
run out of him. He'll beat the same bunch like breakin' sticks the
next time." Then, under his breath: "_You're a pretty good guy after
all!_"

"Well," was the ungracious rejoinder, "don't kid yourself that it's
on your account."

Since it was his practice never to accept the obvious but to search
diligently for the hidden motive behind every deed, good or bad,
Little Calamity gave considerable thought to the matter and at last
believed that he had arrived at the only possible explanation of the
Kid's conduct. "Boss," said he that evening, "did you bet any money
to-day?"

"Not a nickel," was the answer.

"Or give anybody any money to bet for you?"

"No."

"Did anybody ask to be your bettin' commissioner?"

"No. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to know."

Before Little Calamity went to sleep that night he reviewed the
situation somewhat as follows:

"My dope was wrong, but it's a cinch a hustler like the Kid ain't
hangin' around the boss for his _health_.... And he didn't kick in
wit' that alibi because he loves _me_ any too well.... I can't figure
him at all."

If he could have heard a conversation then going on in Old Man
Curry's tackle-room, the figuring would have been easier.

"Frank," said the old man, "I had my eye on you to-day. You ain't got
designs on that fool's bank roll, have you?"

The Bald-faced Kid blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air and
watched it float to the rafters before he answered question with
question.

"How long have you known me, old-timer?"

"Quite a while, my son."

"You know that I get my living by doing the best I can?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever know me to steal anything from a blind man? Or even one
that was near-sighted?"

"No-o."

"Then don't worry about this Hopwood."

"But he ain't blind--except in the Scriptural sense."

"Think not, eh? Listen! That bird can't see as far as the sixteenth
pole. Somebody has got to watch the races and tell him how well his
horse is going or else he'll never know. Think what he'd miss! I'm
his form chart and his eyes, old-timer, and all I charge him is a
laugh now and then. Cheap enough, ain't it?"

Old Man Curry found his packet of fine-cut and thrust a large helping
into his left cheek. "'For as