After leaving the place the sport, whom the proprietor addressed as Brower, took his way to a messenger office, sent a boy out with a note, and then hastened to a fashionable saloon in the neighborhood. “Now, then,” thought Nick, as he took a seat not far from him out of the range of his sight, “I’ll soon find out how many different games they are playing over at the stables.” The sport settled himself down behind a paper as though he had some time to wait. So Nick left him there, and passed out into the street, and ten minutes later, disguised as a howling swell, sauntered into the place, stared about through his one eye glass, and finally took a seat near the waiting man. At the end of half an hour the sport became restless, and began walking nervously up and down the room. Just then a rough-looking fellow entered, and in response to a signal seated himself at a table in the rear end of the place. “Hello, Steve,” said the sport, advancing to the table and taking a seat, “are the races going your way this season?” “About the same old thing,” was the careless response. Both men glanced keenly about, and the next moment were engaged in earnest conversation. Nick strolled around toward the back part of the room, stupidly gazing at the handsome paintings hung upon the walls. But the men, evidently very suspicious, dropped their voices to whispers whenever he came near them. “This won’t do,” thought Nick. “I must find out what those fellows are talking about.” Every effort to overhear them, however, failed, and he finally gave it up. After a long talk, during which Nick saw some money pass from the sport to his companion, the former left the place. “Well, Steve,” said one of the helpers about the saloon, “have you got any pointers about the race to-morrow?” “I can tell you about that to-morrow.” “Aw,” said the dude, advancing toward the two men, “were you talking about the races, you know?” “That’s what,” said Steve, winking at his companion. “Do you want to make your everlasting fortune?” “Aw, I might put up a couple of hundred.” “That’s the cheese,” said Steve, with another wink. “I’ll bet you’re a dead-game sport.” “It isn’t good form to be a sport, doncher know.” “You bet it ain’t, but it’s good form to win money, eh?” Steve poked the dude slyly in the ribs as he spoke. “All the boys bet, doncher know.” “Well, you follow my steer, and you’ll have a wad as big as yer head day after to-morrow.” “But, my deah sir, I don’t see any steah. How can I follah a steah if there is no steah?” “You’re a good un; you come wid me an’ I’ll show you de steer.” “Is it fah? I cawn’t walk in these gaiters, doncher know.” “Just a little ways, pard.” “Then we must have a cawwiage. Waitah, will you call a cawwiage?” Steve almost choked over the glass of whisky he was drinking as the carriage drove up and the dude started for the door. Before entering the carriage he gave his instructions to the driver in a low tone of voice.