Garrison's blank eyes and quivering face.

"I'm all right. I'm all right," muttered Billy vaguely, passing a hand
over his throbbing temples.

Drake was silent, fidgeting uneasily.

"Kid," he blurted out at length, "it looks as if you were all in. Say,
let me be your bank-roll, won't you? I know you lost every cent on Sis,
no matter what they say. I'll give you a blank check, and you can fill
it out--"

"No, thanks, Jimmy."

"Don't be touchy, kid. You'd do the same for me--"

"I mean it, Drake. I don't want a cent. I'm not hard up. Thanks all the
same." Garrison's rag of honor was fluttering in the wind of his pride.

"Well," said Drake, finally and uncomfortably, "if you ever want it,
Billy, you know where to come for it. I want to go down on the books as
your friend, hear? Mind that. So-long."

"So-long, Jimmy. And I won't forget your stand."

Garrison continued staring at the floor. This, then, was the reason why
the sporting world had cut him dead; for a horse-poisoner is ranked in
the same category as that assigned to the horse-stealer of the Western
frontier. There, a man's horse is his life; to the turfman it is his
fortune--one and the same. And so Crimmins had testified that he had