"Oh, rot!" broke in Hapgood. "I was a fool to come out here with a
fool like you."

He turned his back squarely upon Conniston and stood staring out the
little window, biting his thin lips. Conniston stood eying him, and
slowly the smile passed from his face, to be followed by a serious
frown.

"I thought you'd kick in for the sport of it," he said, after a
moment, his voice quiet and a trifle cold. "You don't have to if you
feel like that about it. You still have your ticket to San Francisco.
You can have half of that twenty-seven dollars. You can sell your
horse if we win the brutes."

Hapgood had been thinking about that before Conniston spoke. And his
thoughts had gone further. It would not be long, he told himself
shrewdly, before Conniston Senior softened. And then there would be
much money to help spend, many dinners to help eat, much wine to help
drink, a string of glittering functions to attend. And if he broke
with Greek now--

"See here, Greek," he said, affably, forcing a smile. "What's the use
of this nonsense? Why not slip your father a wire now. He'll come
across. And then we can go on as we had intended and--"

"Nothing doing." For once Conniston was stubborn. "I'm going on with
this thing. If those horses come to us I am going to start early in
the morning for the mountains to see what I can see. You can do as you
please."