"Red," broke in Garrison harshly, "you don't believe I threw that race?
Honest, I'm square. Why, I was up on Sis--Sis whom I love, Red--honest,
I was sure of the race. Dead sure. I hadn't much money, but I played
every cent I had on her. I lost more than any one. I lost--everything.
See," he ran on feverishly, glad of the opportunity to vindicate
himself, if only to a stable-boy. "I guess the stewards will let the
race stand, even if Waterbury does kick. Rogue won square enough."

"Yeh, because yeh choked Sis off in th' stretch. She could ha' slept
home a winner, an' yeh know it, Billy," said Red, with sullen regret.

There was a time when he never would have dared to call Garrison by his
Christian name. Disgrace is a great leveler. Red grew more conscious of
his own rectitude.

"I ain't knockin' yeh, Billy," he continued, speaking slowly, to
lengthen the pleasure of thus monopolizing the pulpit. "What have I to
say? Yeh can ride rings round any jockey in the States--at least, yeh
could." And then, like his kind, Red having nothing to say, proceeded to
say it.

"But it weren't your first thrown race, Billy. Yeh know that. I know
how yeh doped it out. I know we ain't got much time to make a pile if
we keep at th' game. Makin' weight makes yeh a lunger. We all die of th'
hurry-up stunt. An' yeh're all right to your owner so long's yeh make
good. After that it's twenty-three, forty-six, double time for yours. I
know what th' game is when you've hit th' top of th' pile. It's a fast
mob, an' yeh got to keep up with th' band-wagon. You're makin' money
fast and spendin' it faster. Yeh think it'll never stop comin' your way.
Yeh dip into everythin'. Then yeh wake up some day without your pants,