and the simile was merited. But he was an excellent flesh handler; and
Waterbury, an old ex-bookie, knew what he was about when he appointed
him head of the stable.

"Hello, Dan!" said Garrison, in the same tone he had used to greet Red.
He and the trainer had been thick, but it was a question whether that
thickness would still be there. Garrison, alone in the world since he
had run away from his home years ago, had no owner as most jockeys have,
and Crimmins had filled the position of mentor. In fact, he had trained
him, though Garrison's riding ability was not a foreign graft, but had
been bred in the bone.

"Hello!" echoed Crimmins, coming forward. His manner was cordial, and
Garrison's frozen heart warmed. "Of course you'll quit the game," ran
on the trainer, after an exchange of commonalities. "You're queered for
good. You couldn't get a mount anywhere. I ain't saying anything about
your pulling Sis, 'cause there ain't no use now. But you've got me and
Mr. Waterbury in trouble. It looked as if we were in on the deal. I
should be sore on you, Garrison, but I can't be. And why? Because Dan
Crimmins has a heart, and when he likes a man he likes him even if
murder should come 'atween. Dan Crimmins ain't a welcher. You've done
me as dirty a deal as one man could hand another, but instead of getting
hunk, what does Dan Crimmins do? Why, he agitates his brain thinking of
a way for you to make a good living, Bud. That's Dan Crimmins' way."

Garrison was silent. He did not try to vindicate himself. He had given
that up as hopeless. He was thinking, oblivious to Crimmins' eulogy.

"Yeh," continued the upright trainer; "that's Dan Crimmins' way. And
after much agitating of my brain I've hit on a good money-making scheme