"Honest, Pinky," she commented, "your soft spot's growing. If you don't watch out the specialists'll get you. Do you suppose that if these cheap touts had such hot info. as that, they'd peddle it out, in place of going down to the track and coming back with all the money in the world in their jeans?" "Sure not," said he patiently. "They don't know any more about it than the men who write the form sheets; but we've tried everything from stable-dope to dreaming numbers and can't get one of them to run for us. So I'm taking a chance that the National Strong Arm Association might shut their eyes in the dark and happen to pass me the right name without meaning it." "There's some sense to that," admitted the Beauty reflectively. "You'll get the first wire to-morrow morning, won't you? Just my luck. It's matinée day and I'd like to see you try it." "That's all right," said J. Rufus. "I'll have the money to show you as a surprise at dinner." The Beauty hesitated. "I--I'm engaged for dinner to-morrow," she stated, half reluctantly. He was silent a moment. "Block? That means supper, too." "Yes. You see, Jimmy, I've just got to give 'em all a try-out." "Of course," he admitted. "But he won't do. I'll bet you a box of gloves against a box of cigars." "I won't bet you," she replied, laughing. "I've got a hunch that I'd lose." CHAPTER XIV WHEREIN THE BROADWAY QUARTET EVENS UP AN OLD SCORE At his hotel the next day, about noon, J. Rufus got the promised wire. It consisted of only one word: "Razzoo." Alone, J. Rufus went out to the track, and on the race in which Razzoo was entered at average odds of ten to one, he got down six hundred dollars, reluctantly holding back, for his hotel bill, three hundred dollars--all he had in the world. Then he shut his eyes, and with large self-contempt waited for Razzoo to finish by lamplight. To his immense surprise Razzoo won by two lengths, and with a contented chuckle he went around to the various books and collected his winnings, handing to each bookmaker derogatory remarks calculated to destroy the previous _entente cordiale_. On his way out, puffed with huge joy and sitting alone in the big automobile, he was hailed by a familiar voice. "Well, well, well! Our old friend, J. Rufus!" exclaimed Harry Phelps, he of the natty clothes and the curly hair. With Mr. Phelps were Larry Teller and Billy Banting and Yap Pickins. "Jump in," invited J. Rufus with a commendable spirit, forgiving them cheerfully for having lost money to him, and, despite the growl of protest from lean Short-Card Larry, they invaded the tonneau. "You must be hitting them up some, Wallingford," observed Mr. Phelps with a trace of envy. "I know they're not furnishing automobiles to losers these days." "Oh, I'm doing fairly well," replied Wallingford loftily. "I cleaned 'em up for six thousand to-day." The envy on the part of the four was almost audible.