"Know he will win," said Carter.

The veteran commissioner of the club stand buttonholed him. "Mr.
Carter," he begged, "why don't you bet through me? I'll give you as
good odds as they will in that ring. You don't want your clothes
torn off you and your money taken from you."

"They haven't taken such a lot of it yet," said Carter.

When Red Wing won, the crowd beneath the box, the men in the box,
and the people standing around it, most of whom had followed
Carter's plunge, cheered and fell over him, to shake hands and
pound him on the back. From every side excited photographers
pointed cameras, and Lander's band played: " Every Little Bit Added
to What You've Got Makes Just a Little Bit More." As he left the
box to collect his money, a big man with a brown mustache and two
smooth-shaven giants closed in around him, as tackles interfere for
the man who has the ball. The big man took him by the arm. Carter
shook himself free.

"What's the idea?" he demanded.

"I'm Pinkerton," said the big man genially. "You need a body-
guard. If you've got an empty seat in your car, I'll drive home
with you. From Cavanaugh they borrowed a book-maker's hand-bag and
stuffed it with thousand-dollar bills. When they stepped into the
car the crowd still surrounded them.

"He's taking it home in a trunk!" they yelled.