Part 11 (1/2)
”I want to back Lucretia for the 'Eclipse,”' Crane said to the bookmaker.
”Lucretia,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Faust. ”She'll have a rosy time beatin' Dutchy on their last race. They'll put a better boy up on the colt next time, an'
he ought to come home all by himself” ”Yes, a fairish sort of a jock will have the mount I think-Westley's a good enough boy.”
”Westley?” came wonderingly from Faust.
”Yes; Langdon owns The Dutchman now.”
The Cherub pursed his fat round lips in a soft whistle of enlightenment.
It had staggered him at first that Crane, for whose ac.u.men he had a profound respect, should have intended such a hazardous gamble; now he saw light.
”Then my book is full on the Porter mare?” he said, inquiringly. Crane nodded his head.
”An' I lay against the Hanover colt?”
Again Crane nodded.
”It's not bookmaking,” continued Faust.
”I'm not a bookmaker,” retorted Crane. ”And see here, Faust,” he continued, ”when you've got my money on the Porter mare--when and how I leave to you--I want you to cut her price short--do you understand? Make her go to the post two to one on, if you can; don't forget that.”
”If the mare goes wrong?” objected Faust.
”I don't think she will, but you needn't be in a hurry--there's plenty of time.”
”What's the limit?” asked Faust.
”I want her backed down to even money at least,” Crane answered; ”probably ten thousand will do it. At any rate you can go that far.”
Then for a few days Langdon prepared his new horse for the Eclipse according to his idea of Crane's idea; and Dixon rounded Lucretia to in a manner that gladdened John Porter's heart. They knew nothing of anything but that Lucretia was very fit, that they had Boston Bill's jockey to ride straight and honest for them, and that with a good price against the mare they would recoup all their losses.
VI
The day of the race when John Porter went into the betting ring he was confronted with even money about his mare. If he had read on the ring blackboard a notice that she was dead, he would not have been more astonished. He fought his way back to the open of the paddock without making a bet.
”Even money!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dixon when his owner told him of the ring situation, ”why, they're crazy. Who's doin' it?”
”Not the public,” declared Porter, ”for I was there just after the first betting. It must be your friend Boston Bill that has forestalled us; n.o.body else knew of the mare's trial.”
”Not on your life, Mr. Porter; Boston plays fair. D'ye think he could live at this game if he threw down his friends?”
”But n.o.body else even knew that we'd got a good boy for the mare.”
”It don't make no difference,” curtly answered Dixon; ”it's a million dollars to a penny whistle that Boston hasn't a dollar on yet. Our agreement was that he'd send in his commission when they were at the post, an' his word's like your own, sir, as solid as a judge's decision.
It's some one else. There's somebody behind that d.a.m.ned Langdon--he's not clever enough for all this. D'you know that The Dutchman's runnin'
in Langdon's name to-day?”