"Does a bet scare you that bad?" asked Old Man Curry with sarcasm. "Any bet from you would scare me, professor. Any bet at all. Try the next store." Old Man Curry worked his way around the circle, Elisha's price dropping before his advance. His very appearance in the ring had been enough to encourage play on the horse, and the large roll of bills which he carried so conspicuously added a powerful impetus to the rush on the favourite. "Curry's betting a million!" "Elisha's a cinch!" "The old coot's got 'em scared!" Elisha dropped to even money, then went to odds on. At 4 to 5 and even at 3 to 5 the crowd played him, and sheet and ticket writers were kept busy recording bets on the Curry horse. Somewhere in the maelstrom Old Man Curry encountered the Bald-faced Kid plying his vocation. He was earnestly endeavouring to persuade a whiskered rustic to bet more money than he owned on Cornflower at 3 to 1. Though very busy, the young man was abreast of the situation and fully informed of events, as indeed he usually was. Retaining his interest in the rustic by the simple expedient of thrusting a forefinger through his buttonhole, the Kid leaned toward the old man. "See what your little nigger did, riding that horse out yesterday morning? You might have got 2 or 3 to 1 on him if Mose hadn't tipped him off to every clocker at the track!" Old Man Curry digested this remark in silence. "I hear that Engle is sending the mare for a killing," whispered the Kid. "Know anything about it?" "Everything is bein' sent for a killing to-day," said Old Man Curry. "Well, she'll have 'Lisha to beat, I reckon. And all he's runnin' for is the purse, Frank, like you said. I did my best to bet 'em until the price got too plumb ridiculous, but the children of Israel wouldn't take my money." The Bald-faced Kid glanced at the roll of bills which the old man still held in his hand. "Well, no wonder!" he snorted. "Don't you know that ain't any way to do? You come in here and wave a chunk like that under their noses, and--by golly, you ought to have your head examined!" "I reckon you're right," said the old man apologetically. "All I ask is please don't have me yanked up before the Lunacy Board till after the last race, because----" "Aw, rats! Beat it now till I land this sucker!" "Frank," whispered the old man, "tell him to save a couple of dollars to bet on Jeremiah!"