nly one horse in just one race," explained Wallingford. "Razzoo."

"Razzoo!" snorted Short-Card Larry. "Was you in on that assassination?
Why, that goat hasn't won a race since the day before Adam ate the
apple, and the jockey he had on to-day couldn't put up a good ride on
a street car. How did you happen to land on it?"

Blandly Wallingford produced the telegram he had received that
morning.

"This wire," he condescendingly explained, "is from the National
Clockers' Association of Boston, Massachusetts, United States of
America, who are charitable enough to pass out long-shot winners, at
the mere bag-o'-shells service-price of five dollars per day or twenty
per week."

They looked from the magic word "Razzoo" to the smiling face of J.
Rufus more in sorrow than in anger.

"And they happened to hand you a winner!" said the cadaverous Mr.
Teller, folding the telegram dexterously with the long, lean fingers
of one hand, and passing it back as if he hated to see it.

"Winner is right," agreed J. Rufus. "I couldn't pick 'em any other
way, and I took a chance on this game because it's just as good a
system as going to a clairvoyant or running the cards."

There was a short laugh from the raw-boned Mr. Pickins.

"I don't suppose they'll ever do it again," he observed, "but I feel
almost like taking a chance on it myself."

"Go to it," advised J. Rufus heartily. "Go to it, and come home with
something substantial in your pocket, like this," and most brazenly,
even in the face of what he knew of them, young Wallingford flaunted
before their very eyes an assorted package of orange-colored
bank-bills, well calculated to excite discord in this company. "Lovely
little package of documents," he said banteringly; "and I suppose you
burglars are already figuring how you can chisel it away from me."

They smiled wanly, and the smile of Larry Teller showed his teeth.

"No man ever pets a hornet but once," said Billy, the only one sturdy
enough to voice his discomfiture.

Wallingford beamed over this tribute to his prowess.

"Well, you get a split of it, anyhow," he offered. "I'll take you all
to dinner, then afterward we'll have a little game of stud poker if
you like--with police interference barred."

They were about to decline this kind invitation when Short-Card Larry
turned suddenly to him, with a gleam of the teeth which was almost a
snarl.

"We'll take you," he said. "Just a little friendly game for small
stake