Part 26 (1/2)

After Langdon had gone Crane lighted a fresh cigar and let his thoughts circle about Allis and Diablo. It would be just like the play of Fate for the horse to turn out good, now that John Porter had got rid of him.

When evil fortune set its hard face against a man he could do little toward making the wicked G.o.d smile, and Porter, even when he was about, was a poor hand at compelling success.

Jakey Faust learned of Diablo's transition from Porter's to Langdon's stable. This information caused him little interest at first; indeed, he marveled somewhat at two such clever men as Crane and Langdon acquiring a horse of Diablo's caliber.

Faust's business relations.h.i.+p with Crane was to a certain degree tentative. Crane never confided utterly in anybody; if agents obeyed his behests, well and good; and each transaction was always completed in itself. He had discovered Faust and used him when it suited his purpose.

Some time after the purchase of Diablo, Jakey, reading his Morning Telegraph, came with much interest upon the entries for the Brooklyn Handicap, published that day. They were all the old campaigning Handicap horses, as familiar to Faust as his fellow members of the betting ring.

As his eye ran down the long list a sudden little pig grunt of surprise bubbled up through his fat throat. ”Gee, Diablo! Oh, ho, Mr. Crane!”

He tore out the list and put it in his pocket; then he sat for a time, thinking. The result was a run down to Gravesend to pay just a friendly visit to Langdon.

As far as Crane was concerned, the Trainer and the Bookmaker were like two burglars suddenly coming upon each other while robbing the same house; they were somewhat in a condition of armed neutrality, toward each other.

Faust hoped that Langdon would talk about Diablo; but the Trainer was like most of his guild generally, a close-mouthed man, so Jakey had to make his own running.

”What's the boss goin' to do with Diablo?” he asked Langdon.

”Must 've bought him for a work horse, I guess,” the Trainer answered.

”Is he any good?”

”He can eat; that's all I see from him yet.”

”What did he buy him for?”

”To help a snoozer that was sittin' in bad luck.”

Faust had an odd habit of causing his fat sides to ripple like troubled water when he wished to convey the impression that he was amused; he never laughed, just the rib ripple.

”What's funny?” Langdon asked, eying Jakey, with querulous disfavor.

”Crane buying a horse to help a man,” answered the Cherub, wondering if Langdon was so devoid of humor as to take it seriously.

”Crane told me so himself,” said the Trainer; ”Porter's hurt, an' I guess they're in a hole, an' the boss took over Diablo.”

”Say, d.i.c.k,” and Faust edged close enough to tap the other man's ribs with his thumb, ”were you born yesterday? I say,” continued the Cherub, for Langdon had turned away somewhat impatiently, ”what's the good av givin' me that gup; you didn't stand for it yourself--not on yer life.

Th' old man's pretty slick; buys a bad horse to help a poor mutt, an'

enters him in the Brooklyn, eh?”

”The Brooklyn!” exclaimed Langdon, thrown off his guard.

With corpulent intensity the Cherub melodramatically drew from his pocket the Telegraph clipping and tendered it to Langdon, watching the latter's face closely. ”That's the pea, d.i.c.k, eh?” he asked.

Langdon was thinking. Was Crane doubling on him all around? Why the devil hadn't he told him?

”Now you ain't takin' in that fairy tale of Crane's any more'n I am, d.i.c.k. Why can't we do a bit for ourselves over this; it won't hurt the boss none. Won't throw him down. This horse was a good youngster, an'