"Would you rather have her find out from some one else, Frank?" "No-o." "If you want to start clean, son, the best place to begin is with the girl." "But what if she throws me down?" "That's the chance you'll have to take. You've been taking 'em all your life." "Yes, but nothing ever meant as much to me as this does." "Well, son, the more a woman cares for a man the more she'll forgive." "Did Solomon say that?" demanded the Kid suspiciously. "No, _I_ said it. You see, Frank, it was this way with Solomon: he had a thousand wives, more or less, and I reckon he never had time to strike a general average. He wrote a lot 'bout women, first and last, but it seems he only remembered two kinds--the ones that was too good to live and the ones that wasn't worth killin'. It would have been more helpful to common folks if he'd said something 'bout the general run of women. You'd better tell her, Frank." The Bald-faced Kid sighed. "I'd rather take a licking. You're sure about that forgiving business, old-timer?" "It's the one best bet, my son." "Pull for it to go through, then. Good night--and thank you." Left alone, Old Man Curry turned the pages for a time, then read aloud: "'There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid--_the way of a man with a maid_.' Well, after all, the straight way is the best way, and the boy's on the right track." A few days later Old Man Curry, sunning himself in the paddock, caught sight of the Kid. That engaging youth had a victim pinned in a corner and, programme in hand, was pointing the way to prosperity. "Now, listen," he was saying; "you ain't taking a chance when you bet on this bird to-day. Didn't I tell you that the boy that rides him is my cousin? And ain't the owner my pal? What better do you want than that? This tip comes straight from the barn, and you can get 20 to 1 for all your money!" The victim squirmed and wriggled and twisted and would have broken away but for the Kid's compelling eye. At last he thought of something to say: "If this here Bismallah is such a hell-clinkin' good race horse, how come they ain't _all_ bettin' on him?" "Why ain't they?" the Kid fairly squealed. "Because we've been lucky enough to keep him under cover from everybody! That's why! Nobody knows what he can do; the stable money won't even be bet here for fear of tipping him off; it'll be bet in the pool rooms all over the Coast. He'll walk in, I tell you--just _walk_ in! Why, say! You don't think I'd tell you this if I didn't know it was _so_? Here comes the owner. I'll go talk with him. You wait right here!" It was really the owner of Bismallah, who, speaking out of the corner of his mouth, told the Bald-faced Kid to go to a warmer clime. The hustler returned to his victim instead.