Part 14 (1/2)

Langdon stood silent, sullenly turning over in his mind this doubtful compliment.

”I'm not sure,” continued the Banker, ”but that having stuck Porter with Lauzanne, you shouldn't give him a hint about--well, as to what course of preparation would make Lauzanne win a race for him. The ordinary diet of oats is hardly stimulating enough for such a sluggish animal.”

Langdon frowned. If Crane had not been quite so strong, quite so full of unexpressed power, he would have rebelled at the a.s.sertion that he had stuck Porter; but he answered, and his voice struggled between asperity and deprecation, ”There ain't no call for me to give that stable any pointers; Porter put it to me pretty straight that the horse had been helped.”

”And what did you say?” blandly inquired Crane.

”Told him to go to h.e.l.l.”

This wasn't exactly truthful as we remember the interview, but its terseness appealed to Crane, and he smiled as he said: ”Porter probably won't take your advice, Langdon; he's stubborn enough at times. And even if he does know that--that--Lauzanne' requires special treatment, he won't indulge him--he's got a lot of old-fas.h.i.+oned ideas about racing.

So you see Lauzanne is a bad betting proposition.”

After Langdon had left Crane's thoughts dwelt on the subject they had just discussed.

”From a backer's point of view Lauzanne is certainly bad business,” he mused; ”but the public will reason just as Langdon does. And what's bad for the backers is good for the layers; I must see Faust.”

”You had better make a book to beat Lauzanne,” Crane said to Jakey Faust, just before business had commenced in the ring that afternoon.

The Cherub stared in astonishment; his eyes opened wide. That was nearly the limit of his fat little face's expression, no matter what the occasion.

”You don't own him now, do you, sir?” he blurted out, with unthinking candor.

”I do not.”

”He's dropped into a soft spot--he rates best in the percentage card.”

”Figures sometimes lie,” commented Crane.

”Every handicapper tips him to win.”

”They're all broke because of their knowledge.”

”The books'll mark him up first choice.”

”That's why it will be worth while playing the field to beat him.”

”He's in with a gang of muts to-day, an' he beat some cracker-jacks last time out.”

”You were hypnotized that day, Mr. Faust; so was the Judge. Lauzanne didn't beat anything.”

”Didn't beat--what the h.e.l.l--didn't the Chestnut get the verdict?”

”He did; but--” and Crane looked at Faust, with patient toleration of his lack of perception.

The Cherub waited for an explanation of these contradictory remarks. But he might have waited indefinitely--Crane had quite finished. The Cherub raised his little round eyes, that were like gla.s.s alleys, green and red and blue-streaked, to the other's face inquiringly, and encountered a pair of penetrating orbs peering at him over some sort of a mask--the face that sustained the eyes was certainly a mask--as expressionless.

Then it came to Jakey Faust that there was nothing left to do but fill the Lauzanne column in his book with the many bets that would come his way and make much money.

Crane watched Lauzanne go lazily, sluggishly down to the post for his race. He knew the horse's moods; the walk of the Chestnut was the indifferent stroll of a horse that is thinking only of his dinner.

”They've given him nothing,” the Banker muttered to himself; ”the heavy-headed brute won't try a yard. But he'll fight the boy when he tries to ride him out.”