best way, and the boy's on the
right track."

A few days later Old Man Curry, sunning himself in the paddock,
caught sight of the Kid. That engaging youth had a victim pinned in a
corner and, programme in hand, was pointing the way to prosperity.

"Now, listen," he was saying; "you ain't taking a chance when you bet
on this bird to-day. Didn't I tell you that the boy that rides him is
my cousin? And ain't the owner my pal? What better do you want than
that? This tip comes straight from the barn, and you can get 20 to 1
for all your money!"

The victim squirmed and wriggled and twisted and would have broken
away but for the Kid's compelling eye. At last he thought of
something to say:

"If this here Bismallah is such a hell-clinkin' good race horse, how
come they ain't _all_ bettin' on him?"

"Why ain't they?" the Kid fairly squealed. "Because we've been lucky
enough to keep him under cover from everybody! That's why! Nobody
knows what he can do; the stable money won't even be bet here for
fear of tipping him off; it'll be bet in the pool rooms all over the
Coast. He'll walk in, I tell you--just _walk_ in! Why, say! You
don't think I'd tell you this if I didn't know it was _so_? Here
comes the owner. I'll go talk with him. You wait right here!"

It was really the owner of Bismallah, who, speaking out of the corner
of his mouth, told the Bald-faced Kid to go to a warmer clime. The
hustler returned to his victim instead.

"He says it's all fixed up; everything framed; play him across the
board. Come on!"

The victim allowed himself to be dragged in the direction of the
betting ring, and Old Man Curry watched the proceedings with a
whimsical light in his eye. Later he found a chance to discuss the
matter with the Kid. The last race was over, and Frank was through
for the day.

"You're persuadin' 'em pretty _strong_, ain't you, son?" asked the
old man. "You used to give advice; now you're makin' 'em _take_ it
whether they want to or not."

"Where do you get that stuff?" demanded the Kid, bristling
immediately.

"Why, I saw you working on that big fellow in the grey suit. I was
afraid you'd have to hit him on the head and go into his pocket after
it. Looked to me like he wasn't exackly crazy to gamble."

"Oh, him!" The tout spat contemptuously. "Do you know what that piker
wanted to bet? Six dollars, across the board! I made him loosen up
for fifteen, and he howled like a wolf."

"The hoss--lost?" By the d