American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
Make money! I bolted two eggs and a cup of coffee and was back in ten
minutes. Surething’s second shoe was receiving its last polish. He
paid the artist, and then turning led me to a rear room of the nearby
ginmill.
“This is it,” said Surething. His voice was rum-husky but he made
himself clear. “There’s the special race between Prince Rupert and
Creole Belle. You know about that?”
Of course I knew. These cracks had been especially matched against
each other. It would be a great contest; the odds were five to three on
Prince Rupert; thousands were being wagered; the fraternity had talked
of nothing else for three weeks. Of course I knew!
“Well,” went on Surething, “I’ve been put wrong, understand! I’ve got
my bundle on Creole Belle and stand to win a fortune if Prince Rupert
is beaten. I supposed that I’d got his driver fixed. I paid this crook
a thousand cold and gave him tickets on Creole Belle which stand him to
win five thousand more to throw the race. But now, with the race to be
called at two o’clock, I get it straight he’s out to double-cross me.
He’ll drive Rupert to win; an’ if he does I’m a gone fawnskin. But I’ve
thought of another trick.”
Then suddenly: “I’ll tell you what you do; get into this wagon outside
and come with me.”
With the last word, Surething again headed for the street. We took
a carriage that stood at the door. In thirty minutes we were on the
Charter ‘Oak track. At this early hour, we had the course to ourselves.
Surething walked up the homestretch until we arrived at a point midway
between the half mile post and the entrance to the stretch.
“See that tree?” said Surething, and he pointed to a huge buttonwood--a
native--that stood perhaps twenty feet inside the rail. “Come over and
take a look at it.”
The great buttonwood was hollow; or rather a half had been torn away
by some storm. What remained, however, was growing green and strong
and stood in such fashion towards the course that it offered a perfect
hiding place. By lying close within the hollow one was screened from any
who might drive along.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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