"’You know, of course,’ said he confidentially, to the ex-grocer, ’that that nag can eat up any horse down here at three-quarters of a mile. He’d never be beaten at that distance if we let him out every time he went to the post to race. But, of course, if I’d let him win every time out, there would never be any price on him. He’d be a 1 to 20 shot every time he got a lead-pad on, and I’m not going down the line on that kind of prices. Neither am I running my string over at Gloucester for hygienic reasons. Perceive?’
"’Well,’ this oily geezer went on, ’that horse is entered in a six-furlong sprint to-morrow, as you know. He’ll probably be an even-money favorite. He’ll lose.’
"’He will, hey?’ said the new man on the block, suspicious like. ’That’s darned good of you to tell me. But you’re not telling me that for your health, either. He’s going to lose, eh?’
"’Yep, he’ll lose,’ repeated the smooth owner. ’Now, you’re a pretty nice young fellow, ain’t you? I like you. Understand?’
"’Um,’ said the ex-grocer. ’What’s your graft, anyhow?’
"’Well, as I say, that skate of mine is going to lose,’ said the confidential owner once more. ’Now, you see this thousand-dollar William, don’t you? Well, I want you to take a thousand-dollars’ worth of my horse to win for my account, see, when you make your book on that race. He may be as good as 2 to 1, but he’s going to lose anyhow. You see, I just want to pick up an honest dollar or so. You take this $1,000 of the suckers’ money for me on your book, and your reward ’ll be in knowing what’s going to happen. You can hunch up the price, see? Is it a go?’
"Now, this looked like a pretty good thing to the groceryman. It looked like taking candy from a child. If that owner’s horse wasn’t going to lose, it looked like a cinch that he wasn’t going to risk any thousand-dollar bills on the game. So the new bookie told the owner that he was on, took his $1,000, and figured on the pounding he was going to give the talent the next day. He chuckled to himself when the other books only laid even money against the sprinter when the betting on the race began the next afternoon.
"’They wouldn’t do a thing but fall over themselves to lay a long price if they knew, like I do, that the favorite is going to kerflop,’ mused the ex-groceryman—he wailed me the whole spiel afterward—and he laid 2 to 1 against the sprinter’s chances on his slate. The other bookies over his way looked as if they thought he was wheely, but he only exulted whole lots inside of him.