TOD SLOAN 



success, of course, but it paid for a while. I can tell 

 you, though, that I used to look at the carpets and 

 chairs when they had all gone. The collection of cigar 

 stubs and remnants of bad words took some time 

 sweeping up. 



One afternoon, just before the fourth race was due, 

 Charlie Ballard, the jockey, came in by chance. The 

 crowd were looking down the card and thinking over 

 what they would do. Charlie Hauser, who was at the 

 telephone as usual, taking the commissions of Germans, 

 Poles, Russians — and others, looked through the door, 

 saying ; "Is Charlie here ? somebody's asking for 

 him." But Charlie Ballard wasn't wanted ; he never 

 even went to the receiver. 



" I'll have a bet on this race," said one. " A hundred 

 dollars on So-and-so " — and he mentioned the name 

 of the horse. 



" Well then, put me on 20 dollars. Tod," added 

 another. It was a 4 J to 1 chance. Then there was 

 a short pause and a minute or two elapsed. " Champion 

 won," called out Hauser through the door. It was 

 what the two had backed. But I didn't tumble it 

 and in due course paid out. The evening passed and 

 even the next day came but I was no wiser. The 

 guy who had stuck me for the 450 dollars had a great 

 night, I heard, and said I was " easy." Then it began 

 — by the remarks of one or two — to leak out to me. 

 They had coded the runners in the race. One was 

 "Charlie," of course, another was Fred, say, yet another 

 George, while I suppose the others were represented 

 by Fritz, or Ivan, or Bill. At all events the strength 

 of the result was given by " Is ' Charlie ' here ? " 

 The code of " Charlie " had come off all right. I fell 

 across the fellow who had stuck me for the 450 

 dollars, and he laughed, saying : " You always were 



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