Wallingford chuckled. "They're bound, you know, to land on a dead one once in a while," he grunted; "but I'm strong for their game, just the same. You remember what that Razzoo thing that they tipped off did for me the other day." "Yes?" admitted Phelps with a rising inflection and a meaning grin. "Nice money you won on him. It spends well." "Enjoy yourselves," invited Wallingford cordially. "I've no kick coming. I'm through with stud poker till they quit playing it with a hole-card." "I don't blame you," agreed Short-Card Larry solemnly. "Anybody that would bet a four-flush against two aces in sight, the way you did when Billy won that three-thousand-dollar pot from you, ought never to play anything stronger than ping-pong for the cigarettes." Wallingford nodded, with the best brand of suavity he could muster under the irritating circumstances. "I suppose I did play like a man expecting his wife to telephone," he admitted. "Excuse me a minute; I want to get a bet down on this race." "Whom do you like?" asked Pickins. "Rosey S." The four began to laugh. "That's the hot Boston tip," gasped Phelps. "Say, Wallingford, don't give your money to the Mets. Let us make a book for you on that skate." "You're on," agreed J. Rufus, delighted that the proposition should come from them, for he had been edging in that direction himself. "I'll squander a hundred on the goat at the first odds we see." They went into the betting-shed. Rosey S. was quoted at six to one. Even as they looked the price was rubbed, and ten to one was chalked in its place. The laughter of the quartet was long and loud as they pulled money from their pockets. "The first odds goes, Big Pink," Banting reminded him. Wallingford produced his hundred dollars, and quietly noted that the eyes of the quartet glistened as they saw the size of the roll from which he extracted it. They had not been prepared to find that he still had plenty of money. Jake Block passed near them, and Wallingford hailed him. "Hold stakes for us, Jake, on a little private bet?" he asked. "Sure thing," acquiesced Jake. "What is it?" "These fellows are trying to win out dinner-money on me. They're giving me six hundred to one against Rosey S." Block glanced up at the board and noted the increased odds, but it was no part of his policy to interfere in anything. "All right," he said, taking the seven hundred dollars and stuffing the money in his pocket. "You don't want to lay a little more, do you, at that odds?" "No," declined Wallingford. "I'm unlucky when I press a bet." Rosey S. put up a very good race for place, but dropped back in the finish to a chorus of comforting observations from the quartet, who, to make matters more aggravating, had played the winner for place at a good price.