, about Engle--hm-m-m. He's right over there, sonny;
better ask him.

After Little Mose had been given his riding orders--briefly, they
were to do the best he could and come home in front if possible--Old
Man Curry turned Elisha over to Shanghai and went into the betting
ring. Elisha's price was still 7 to 5. The old man paused in front of
the first book, a thick wallet in his fingers. The bookmaker, a
red-eyed, dyspeptic-looking person, glanced down, recognised the
flowing white beard under the slouch hat, took note of the thick
wallet, and with one swipe of his eraser sent Elisha to even money.

"That's it! Squawk before you're hurt!" grunted Elisha's owner,
shouldering his way through the crowd to the next stand.

This bookmaker was an immensely fat gentleman with purplish jowls and
piggy eyes which narrowed to slits as they rested upon the corpulent
roll of bills which Old Man Curry was holding up to him.

"Don't want it," he wheezed.

"What ails it?" Old Man Curry's voice rose in a high, piping treble,
shrill with wrath. "It's good money. I got some of it from you. Your
slate says 6 to 5, 'Lisha."

"Don't want it," repeated the bookmaker, his eyes roving over the
crowd. "Get it next door."

"That's a fine howdy-do!" snapped the exasperated old man. "I can't
bet on my own horse--at a short price, too!"

Word ran around the betting ring that Old Man Curry was trying to bet
so much money on Elisha that the bookmakers refused his wagers, and
there was an immediate stampede for the betting booths and a demand
for Elisha at any figure.

The third bookmaker forestalled all argument by wiping out the
prophet's price entirely, while the crowd jeered.

"Does a bet scare you that bad?" asked Old Man Curry with sarcasm.

"Any bet from you would scare me, professor. Any bet at all. Try the
next store."

Old Man Curry worked his way around the circle, Elisha's price
dropping before his advance. His very appearance in the ring had been
enough to encourage play on the horse, and the large roll of bills
which he carried so conspicuously added a powerful impetus to the
rush on the favourite.

"Curry's betting a million!"

"Elisha's a cinch!"

"The old coot's got 'em scared!"

Elisha dropped to even money, then went to odds on. At 4 to 5 and
even at 3 to 5 the crowd played him, and sheet and ticket writers
were kept busy recording bets on the Curry horse.

Somewhere in the maelstrom Old Man Curry encountered th