d been: "Yellow Streak
Mining Company, Seven Hundred and Ten Marabon Building," and yet when
J. Rufus paused before number seven hundred and ten of that building
he found its glass door painted with the sign of the National
Clockers' Association. Worried by the fact that Blackie had moved, yet
struck by the peculiar coincidence of his place being occupied by the
concern that had given him the tip on Razzoo, he walked into the
office to inquire the whereabouts of his friend. He found three girls
at a long table, slitting open huge piles of envelopes and removing
from them money, postal orders and checks--mostly money, for the sort
of people who patronized the National Clockers' Association were
quite willing to "take a chance" on a five- or a twenty-dollar bill
in the mails. Behind a newspaper, in a big leather chair near a
flat-top mahogany desk, with his feet conveniently elevated on the
waste-basket, sat a gentleman who, when he moved the paper aside to
see whom his visitor might be, proved to be Blackie Daw himself.

"Hello, none other than the friend of me childhood!" exclaimed
Blackie, springing to his feet and extending his hand. "What brings
you here?"

"Broke," replied Wallingford briefly. "They cleaned me. Got any
money?"

Mr. Daw opened the top drawer of his desk, and it proved to be nearly
full of bills, thrown loosely in, with no attempt at order or sorting.
"Money's the cheapest thing in Boston," he announced, waving his hand
carelessly over the contents of the drawer. "Help yourself, old man.
The New York mail will bring in plenty more. They've had two winners
there this week, and when it does fall for anything, N'Yawk's the
biggest yap town on earth."

Wallingford, having drawn up a chair with alacrity, was already
sorting bills, smoothing them out and counting them off in hundreds.

"And all on pure charity--picking out winning horses for your
customers!" laughed Wallingford. "This is a real gold mine you've hit
at last."

"Pretty good," agreed Blackie. "I'd have enough to start a mint of my
own if I didn't lose so much playing the races."

"You don't play your own tips, I hope," expostulated Wallingford,
pausing to inspect a tattered bill.

"I should say not," returned Daw with emphasis. "If I did that I'd
have to play every horse in every race. You see, every day I wire the
name of one horse to all my subscribers in Philadelphia, another to
Baltimore, another to Washington, and so on down th