I never bet on races. But I thank you for your
kind offer."
The unwashed face looked at him in blank amazement, then it wrinkled in
a mirthful laugh of derision. "What d' 'ell you goin' to Gravesend for,
den? Blamed if I don't believe you dough--you look it. Say, is dat
straight goods--did you never have a bet in your life?"
"Never did."
"Well, I'm damned! Say, I believe you've got de best of it, dough.
Wish I'd never bucked ag'in' de bookies."
"Why don't you stop it now, then?"
"Say, pard, do you drink?"
"No."
"Smoke?"
"No."
A hopeless air of utter defeat came into the thin, sharp face. Its owner
had been searching for a simile. He wanted to point a moral and he
couldn't find it. The young man at his elbow was too immaculate. He
tried to explain: "Racin's like any other locoed t'ing--it's like
tobacco, or drink, or stealin' money out of a bank--"
Mortimer shivered. He had felt a moral superiority in denying the
implied bad habits.
"It's like any of 'em," continued the ragged philosopher; "a guy starts
simply as a kid, an' he gets de t'row-down. He takes a bracer at
himself, and swears he'll give it de go-by, but he can't--not on your
life."
Mortimer had read much about confidence men, and half expected that his
self-imposed acquaintance would try to borrow money, but he was
disillusionized presently.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354