followed the crowd. Slowly the odds
began to change; the figures on our three platers began to rise. There
was very little activity on the other six horses. Slow-thinking Gimpy
Gordon started to get up but I put out a hand to stop him.

"But the odds are dropping," he complained.

"Gimpy," I said, "they pay on the final listing anyway. But would you
like a tip?"

"Sure," he said nervously.

"My tip is to keep your cash in your pocket. Put it on the nose of some
horse and it's likely to get blown away by a high wind."

The odds were changing rapidly. What with psionic information receivers,
trend predictors and estimated anticipators, the mutuel computers kept
up with the physical transfer of funds, figured out the latest odds, and
flipped the figures as fast as the machinery could work the dials. In no
more than a few minutes the odds on the three platers looked more like
the odds on horses that stood a chance of winning.

* * * * *

Barcelona looked at me. "What did you do, wise guy?"

"Who ... me? Why, I didn't do anything that you did not start--except
that maybe I was a little more generous."

"_Spiel!_" he snarled.

"Why, shucks, Joseph. All I did was to slip good old Gimpy Gordon a
tip."

"How much?"

"Just a lousy little thousand dollar bill."

"A grand! For what, wise guy?"

"Why, just for telling me what horses you picked for the Derby."

Barcelona looked at the odds on his horses. Flying Heels had passed even
money and was heading for a one-to-two odds-on. The other platers were
following accordingly.

"And what did you tell Gimpy, Wilson?"

"You tell him, Gimp," I said.

"Why, Wilson just said that we should ride along with you, Mr.
Barcelona, because you are such a nice guy that everybody works awfully
hard to see that you get what you want."

"There's more!" roared Barcelona.

"Only that I shouldn't mention it to anybody, and that I shouldn't place
my bet until the mutuel windows open because if I did it would louse up
the odds and make you unhappy." Gimpy looked at Barcelona's stormy face
and he grew frightened. "Honest, Mr. Barcelona, I didn't say a word to
nobody. Not a word." He turned to me and whined plaintively, "You tell
him, Mr. Wilson. I didn't say a word."

I soothed him. "We know you didn't, Gimpy."

Barcelona exploded. "Ye Gods!" he howled. "They used that gimmick on me
when I lost my first baby tooth. 'Don't put your tongue in the va