"What price, Goosey Gander?" he asked in a voice harsh and cracking.

"Give you threes," replied the bookie.

"Do it in dollars," replied the boy, with the magnificent sang-froid of
one who goes to ruin as a man of blood should go.

"And again?" asked the bookie.

The answer was never forth-coming; for the Avenging Angel, not
unexpected, swept down upon the sinner with flaming sword.

She was in the shape of a girl about the lad's own age and size, fair as
was he and slight, a flapper with a short thick straw-coloured plait.
She came round the tent swift and terrible as a rapier, her steel-gray
eyes flashing and fierce. Such determination on so young a face the
bookie thought he had never seen. For a moment he expected to see her
strike her victim. And the boy apparently expected the same, for he
cowered back, putting up his hands as though to ward off a blow.

"Got you, sonny," said the bookie, and bolted with a half-hearted grin.

The girl never hesitated. She leapt upon her victim, keen and direct as
a tigress.

"Give me that ticket!" she ordered in a deep bass voice whose
earnestness was almost awful.

The boy had recovered from his first shock.