, hence an easy and extemporaneous liar, but, alas, a
clumsy one. He lacked the Bald-faced Kid's finesse; lacked also his
tireless energy, his insatiable curiosity, and the thin vein of pure
metal which lay underneath the base. There was nothing about
Squeaking Henry which was not for sale cheap; body and soul, he was
on life's bargain counter among the remnants, and Abe Goldmark,
examining the lot, found a price tag labelled three dollars a day.

"Uh-huh," said Henry. "I get you, Mr. Goldmark. You want me to stick
around Old Man Curry's barn and pump him."

"Never mind the pumping," said Goldmark. "The less you talk and the
fewer questions you ask the better. Curry is no fool, understand. He
might be just as smart as you are. Judging by the number of good
things he's put over at this meeting, he's smarter. I want to know
who calls on him, who his stable connections are, who he----"

"Aw, he ain't got no stable connections!" said Squeaking Henry in
great disgust. "He plays the game alone, and when he wants to bet he
walks into the ring and goes to it. Never had a betting commissioner
in his life, and if you want to know when the stable money is down,
all you've got to do is watch Curry. Cinch!"

"Oh, a cinch is it?" sneered Goldmark. "Then I'm making a big mistake
to hire you to find out things. You know everything already, eh?"

"Well, I guess not _everything_," mumbled the abashed Henry.

"That's my guess, too!" snapped Goldmark. "I'm paying you to watch
that Curry stable; get me? And I want you to _watch_ it! I want to
know everything that happens around there from now on, understand?
Particularly, I want a line on this Elisha horse. Know him when you
see him?"

"S-s-sure!" said Squeaking Henry. "Sure I do! Big, leggy bay with a
white spot on his forehead about the size of a nickel. Do I know him?
Well!"

"I want to know when Curry works him--how far and how fast. I want to
know what the old man thinks of his chances in the Handicap. You can
get me at the hotel every night after dinner. Better use the
telephone. In case you slip up or miss me, send word by Al Engle."

"All right," said Henry.

"And say," Goldmark actually grinned, "I hear this Curry is a
soft-hearted old fellow. Why couldn't you tell him a hard-luck story
and get to sleep in his tack-room nights? Then you'd be right on the
ground. Try a hard-luck story on him. The one you sprang on me wasn't
so bad."

"H-m-m-m," mused Henry. "I might, a