songs were always in evidence.

"Hello, Red!" said Garrison gruffly. He had been Red's idol once. He was
quite prepared now, however, to see the other side of the curtain. He
was no longer an idol to any one.

"Hello!" returned Red non-committally.

"Where's Crimmins?"

"In there." Red nodded to the left where were situated the stalls.
"Gettin' Sis ready for the Belmont opening."

"Riding for him now?"

"Yeh. Promised a mount in th' next run-off. 'Bout time, I guess."

There was silence. Garrison pictured to himself the time when he had won
his first mount. How long ago that was! Time is reckoned by events, not
years. How glorious the future had seemed! He slowly seated himself on a
box by the side of Red and laid a hand on the other's thin leg.

"Kid," he said, and his voice quivered, "you know I wish you luck. It's
a great game--the greatest game in the world, if you play it right." He
blundered to silence as his own condition surged over him.

Red was knocking out his shabby heels against the box in an agony of
confusion. Then he grew emboldened by the other's dejected mien. "No,
I'd never throw no race," he said judicially. "It don't pay--"