"Ten, is it? All right; that goes." A look of weariness came over Freddie's face. "But you boys are foolish. I tell you Pop is an old man. How can you expect him to run? Of course, I'm no great runner, but then I'm young and healthy and--and a pretty smooth runner too. Pop is old and fat, and then he doesn't do a thing but tank all day. It's a cinch." The kids looked at him and laughed rapturously. They waved their fingers at him. "Ah, there!" they cried. They meant that they had made a victim of him. But Freddie continued to expostulate. "I tell you he couldn't win--an old man like him. You're crazy. Of course, I know you don't care about ten bottles of wine, but, then--to make such bets as that. You're twisted." "Are we, though?" cried the kids in mockery. They had precipitated Freddie into a long and thoughtful treatise on every possible chance of the thing as he saw it. They disputed with him from time to time, and jeered at him. He laboured on through his argument. Their childish faces were bright with glee. In the midst of it Wilburson entered. Wilburson worked; not too much, though. He had hold of the Mexican end of a great importing house of New York, and as he was a junior partner, he worked. But not too much, though. "What's the howl?" he said. The kids giggled. "We've got Freddie rattled." "Why," said Freddie, turning to him, "these two Indians are trying to tell me that Pop can beat me running." "Like the devil," said Wilburson, incredulously. "Well, can't he?" demanded a kid. "Why, certainly not," said Wilburson, dismissing every possibility of it with a gesture. "That old bat? Certainly not. I'll bet fifty dollars that Freddie----" "Take you," said a kid. "What?" said Wilburson, "that Freddie won't beat Pop?" The kid that had spoken now nodded his head. "That Freddie won't beat Pop?" repeated Wilburson. "Yes. It's a go?" "Why, certainly," retorted Wilburson. "Fifty? All right." "Bet you five bottles on the side," ventured the other kid. "Why, certainly," exploded Wilburson wrathfully. "You fellows must take me for something easy. I'll take all those kinds of bets I can get. Cer--tain--ly." They settled the details. The course was to be paced off on the asphalt of one of the adjacent side-streets, and then, at about eleven o'clock in the evening, the match would be run. Usually in Mexico the streets of a city grow lonely and dark but a little after nine o'clock. There are occasional lurking figures, perhaps, but no crowds, lights and noise. The course would doubtless be undisturbed. As for the policeman in the vicinity, they--well, they were conditionally amiable. The kids went to see Pop; they told him of the arrangement, and then in deep tones they said, "Oh, Pop, if you throw us!" Pop appeared to be a trifle shaken by the weight of responsibility thrust upon him, but he spoke out bravely. "Boys, I'll pinch that race. Now you watch me. I'll pinch it."