"There's a half-dollar," he heard the fat man say, "now take it or leave it." He flung the coin to the pavement, turned and entered the hotel behind his friend, while the hackman, grumbling still, stooped, recovered the coin and, clambering upon his ancient vehicle, drove away. Willie Trigger was disappointed; disappointed that there had been no open fight and disappointed that the hackman had found the half-dollar. His nimble eyes had followed it as it rolled half way beneath a trunk that stood on end beside the curb. When the hackman discovered the coin, Willie's heart sunk and he set out upon his way. Presently he commenced to whistle shrilly and it was apparent that the incident had made no more impression upon his plastic mind than it had upon the minds of the men with whom the hackman had exchanged compliments. As it was, they were shown to a room by a boy in buttons and the loafers in the office saw them together not again that night. The short, squat creature with the huge mustache locked the door and flung off his coat. "Well, we're here!" he exclaimed. His friend made no reply. "Jack," he went on, "if I don't make a killin' Saturday, my name's Mud--Mud with a big M! This town is jammed full of marks--soft, easy, mushy marks. A guy could come in here with three shells and a pea and clean it up in a day----" "If the police would let him," his friend put in with a grin. "Rats!" was the contemptuous retort. "I've been figgerin' it all out," he went on, sinking upon a chair and spreading his short legs to accommodate his capacious portliness. He savagely bit the tip from a black, fat cigar. "I've been figgerin' it all out and it's goin' to be easy. They're muckers; farm-hands; easiest sort o' pickin'!" "Well, how you going to do it?" Before the wavy mirror on the imitation mahogany dresser, his companion smoothed his hair with a pair of military brushes taken from his satchel. The fat man chewed his cigar. "I'm goin' to get next to-night," he said. "There's always more or less geezers hangin' round the hotel in a college town, and I'll do a little pumpin'. I'll find out just what this phenom's been doin' since he went into trainin'." "He's the only one I'm fearin'," his friend put in. "If he can do the sprint under ten seconds flat he's got Morrison beat!" "And _you_ the trainer!" exclaimed the fat man with a deep laugh. "Say, if your man don't lay all over him--say, I won't do a thing----" "Well, be careful, that's all," the other warned. "Don't try to do anything to-night. Plenty of time to-morrow. You can go out to the track and have a look at him; he'll be tryin' out." "Won't you go?" the pudgy creature asked. His friend turned from the stand where he was washing his hands.