Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 148: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

138 ing out of each. In Firefly and Breecher he showed an interest sceond only to their respective owners. This interest was not unmarked by Blithedale and Garry. They were apparently much amused by Pappy’s owl-like manner when either of the favorites were up for discussion; but in secret the two promoters had an ace in the hole. “ The.old man’s got money in the bank, I tell you,” said the major to his confrere, ‘“‘and he’s bugs on the game. Get him really interested in a promising proposition, an’ hell bet his haid off—sure will!” ‘As Pappy Granger already displayed such interest in Firefly and Breecher the two owners laid their heads together and plotted the old man’s downfall. Of the Rose colt they took small notice. There were several scrubs already entered for the particular race in question that looked much more promising than the shaggy veteran. Pappy, however, could not learn too much about Firefly and Breecher. He had been studying their traits and foibles from the start. Either would run away with the field if things were just right—if no acci- dent intervened. But accidents are always intervening in the racing game. Otherwise it would not hold that element of chance it does. Pappy leanred that Firefly was inclined to sulk if things didn’t go her way from the start. In a big field, unless she could take the lead and keep it, she lost heart. “A spurt by ‘one or two horses’ that carried them ahead of her was likely to cost the sorrel’s owner the race. . And there was a peculiar trait in the char- acter of the fiery Breecher, too—a trait that Pappy noted and which perhaps nobody élse but Breecher’s hostler knew. Spirited as Major Blithedale’s black -was, he did not love the track. The track was small, and the big event of the first day—the scrub race in which the Rose colt was entered—was two full circuits of the oval. entries, which meant a hard start, with a jumble, of nervous horse-flesh at the post. It might be a ticklish start for any horse that was not well mounted. “Who you got to ride your mare, Pap- py?” asked the major, exuding good na- There were fourteen THE ARGOSY. ture. “That boy of yours cain’t handle her. I'll lend you a boy.” But Pappy shook his head. “I ‘low to ride her myself, major—if she stays in,” he said. “She'll carry me, all right.” There could be no fault found with that. Pappy was a lean and wiry little man who never in his life had tipped the beam at more than a hundred and ten. Now he was | down to minus the century-mark. There were not many of the jocks at the meet who weighed in less than he. Indeed Enos, his grandson, scaled ahead of Pappy. ‘““T believe the old man will stay 4n,” said the major gleefully to Garry.‘ “I reckon his three hundred is as good as ours, anyway.” ‘‘ But them’s small pickings,”’ ruminated- Garry, chewing his cud of “ sand-leaf” ruminatively. Before Pappy both of them talked ex- pansively about their entries. They said ‘if they, did not scratch their horses at the Jast moment and forfeit each his hundred dollars, either Breecher or Firefly would win. They confessed that if their two horses stayed out, the Rose colt might have a-chance of being in the running. ‘‘ Bet ye anything you like, Pappy, that if the Firefly and my hawse stays in, your old Rose won’t even show,” chuckled Major Blithedale. This was the’ way to egg Pappy on, for the old man was a sport from his bald crown to the very insoles of his patched shoes. A “side bet’. was what the two astute race-track men were after—a side bet by which Pappy would be done brown, and the two plotters divide the winnings. “We got the old man int’rested—for a fact!’ Major Blithedale said to his side partner the day before the opening of the meet. “He’s got a tall opinion of his mare’s chances, too.” % But will he bet?” | “ He’ll bet—and bet big—if we play him right. Take him just before the scrub race. We'll tell him we’re going to stay in and offer him odds that ‘with Breecher and Fire- fly in the field the Rose colt won’t even run third. That ’ll hold his whole three hun- dred.” ; “ But them’s small pickings,” said Gaty — ——¢eomichooksn®