od and drink before."

"I'm thinking," returned Wallingford solemnly. "I hate to do it, for
it interferes with my appetite; but here's a case where I must. I have
got to put one over on that Broadway bunch or lose my self-respect."

That evening, on the way down to the boat, their feet cocked
comfortably on the opposite seat of a cab, Wallingford formulated a
more or less vague plan.

"Tell you what you do, Blackie," he directed; "you send to Phelps and
to me, until I give you the word, a daily tip on sure losers. In the
meantime, bank all your money, and don't make a bet on any race."

"What are you going to do?" asked Blackie curiously.

"Land a sure winner for us and a loser for the Broadway Syndicate.
Hold yourself ready when I wire you to take a quick train for my
hotel, loaded down with all the money you can grab together."

"Fine!" returned Blackie. "You wire me that it's all fixed, and when I
start for New York there'll be a financial stringency in Boston."

Returning to New York, Wallingford caught Beauty Phillips at breakfast
about noon, and in a most charming morning gown, for the Beauty was
consistent enough to be neat even when there was none but "mother" to
see.

"Hello, Mr. Mark, from Easyville," she hailed him. "I heard all about
you."

"You did!" he demanded, surprised. "Who told you?"

"Phelps and Banting," she said. "They had the nerve to come up in the
grand-stand yesterday and tell Mr. Block and me all about it; told me
how much you won and how they got it away from you at poker."

"Did they tell you they put knock-out drops in my wine?" demanded
Wallingford.

"They didn't do that!" she protested.

"Exactly what they did. Whether we played poker afterward, I don't
know. I'd just as soon as not believe they went through my pockets."

"I wouldn't put it past them a bit," she agreed, and then her
indignation began to grow. "Say, ain't it a shame! Now, if I hadn't
gone out to dinner with Mr. Block, you'd have been with me. I'd have
had that lovely diamond brooch you promised me out of your first
winnings, and we'd have had all the rest of it to bet with for a few
days. Honest, Pinky, I feel as if it were my fault!"

"Don't you worry about that," Wallingford cordially reassured her. "It
was my own fault; but I wasn't looking for anything worse than a knife
in my back or a piece of lead pipe behind the ear. There's no use in
crying over spilled milk. The thing to do now is to get even, a