“I don’t want none o’ your sympathy,” said the other, evidently a little nearer sober than his companion; “I’m broke now, but I can get plenty of money when I get over to the stable.” “You’re a liar! you’re always workin’ that bluff about the stable. You don’t get any more stuff’n I do. Wot you got to do wid de stable, say?” “W’at I got to do wid de stable?” said the other, in as sarcastic a tone as he could command. “I’m chambermaid for Denver Bay, I am.” “You’re a nice man to be around a racing stable,” said the other, with an oath. “W’at do you know about a hoss?” “You’re a sucker,” said the other. “You wait till the Denver Bay runs, and I’ll show you a wad.” “You won’t get it on Denver Bay. You’re drunk, that’s what’s the matter with you. Doncher talk to me no more. You’re drunk.” “You’re drunk yourself. You smell like a sour apple. Stan’ up like a man. Why doncher pack yer whisky like me?” The last drinks had evidently been too much for the men, for Nick heard a fall as the speaker attempted to stand on his feet to show how sober he was. Nick stood upon a chair and carefully raised his head above the narrow partition between the two stalls. In his fall the one had carried the other down with him, and they were now clawing, chewing and punching one another in a drunken way. In a moment they lay still, and after mumbling a curse or two fell asleep. “I’m in for it now,” thought the detective, again seating himself in a position so that the men could not leave their stall without being seen by him. “I must stay here all night if necessary in order to cultivate the acquaintance of that fellow who acts as ‘chambermaid’ for Denver Bay.” Just at that moment the door of his stall was opened, and a greasy looking jockey shoved his face inside. “You don’t mean ter say you’re goin’ ter smoke them cigars?” he said, taking one from the table, and breaking it in order to inspect its contents. “Hardly. How long have you been here?” “Oh, just about long enough to nose around in search of a certain green countryman,” said Chick, sitting down in a chair. “Isn’t that a bold costume for this place?” “Bold, why?” “These people may want to know what stable you belong to.” “Oh, that’s all right. I’m from the South, and I never rode a horse with a record.” “That’ll do first rate. Just skip around in there, and see what you can find out about Denver Bay; but before you go take a look at the men in the next stall. We may have further business with them.” Chick opened the door and looked in. “Purty drunk, I should say.” “Yes, and I’ve got to wait around here until they get sober enough to make friends with. One of them works at a stable I want to know something about.” Chick now left the stall and hung about the place engaging in conversation with any one who would talk with him. In a half hour he was back with his report.