"What about the jock?" asked Faust.
"No good--can't be done. He's mooney on the gal."
"Huh!" commented the Cherub. "Did you talk it over with the Boss? He's
not a bad guy gettin' next a good thing."
"He gave me the straight tip to give Redpath the go-by."
"What's his little game? Is he going to hedge on the mare?"
"No; he'll stand his bet flat-footed. Say, he's the slickest! If he
didn't give me the straight office that the mare might get sick, then
I'm a Dutchman."
"We're both Dutchmen." The Cherub laughed immoderately at his stupid
joke. "See, we're both standin' for The Dutchman, ain't we?"
Langdon frowned at the other's levity. "You'll laugh out the other side
your mouth if Lucretia puts up a race in the Derby like she did in the
Handicap."
"But ain't she goin' to get sick? We could whip-saw them both ways
then, that's if we knew it first. I could lay against her an' back your
horse."
"I wish the old man wasn't so devilish deep; he makes me tired
sometimes; gives it to me straight in one breath that he's got reasons
for wantin' to win the race, an' then he pulls that preacher mug of his
down a peg an' says, solemn like: 'But don't interfere with their
jockey.
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