“And that if you play me false, you will get the worst of it?”
“Good. I don’t need to go into details, but what I want is this: I want you to see that Gabriel does not win the Derby. In other words, I want you to ‘pull’ him.”
This was a language she did not understand.
“Yes. Surely you know what pulling means?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” replied Shirley hesitatingly.
“What kind of a jockey do you call yourself?” sneered Jones. “By pulling I mean holding Gabriel back so that some other horse may finish ahead of him.”
“I see,” said Shirley. “And have you selected the horse that is to win the race?”
“And you are willing to pay me $500 for that?”
Shirley was silent, apparently considering. Jones waited perhaps five minutes for her to speak, and then said:
“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “When do I get the money?”
“Very well,” said Shirley, “you may count upon me to do my best.”
“That’s all, then,” said Jones, also rising. “I will make it a point to see you just before the race starts.”
He walked to the door with the supposed traitorous jockey. There Shirley stopped for another word.
“One thing,” she said. “Send me no messages and do not come to see me. It would be too risky.”
He turned on his heel and left without another word. Shirley also made her way from the hotel. Her eyes fell upon a clock in a window.
“Eight o’clock,” she said. “I can’t go to Clara’s yet. They will all see me. What shall I do to pass the time?”
“I’ll stop in this drug store and have an ice cream soda, anyhow,” she finally decided.
This refreshment disposed of, Shirley reached for her purse. For the moment she forgot she was dressed in boys’ clothes, but in an instant she remembered, and thrust her hand in her pocket; and she drew it out with a cry of dismay.
She had forgotten to put her purse in her pocket, and she had no money, and there was the ice cream soda to be paid for.
The man at the cashier’s desk was looking at her suspiciously. Shirley, glancing up, caught the look. Again she made a desperate search of her pockets, but the search was futile. There was no money there.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but I have misplaced my money. I’ll have to ask you to wait till to-morrow.”
“Misplaced your money, eh,” sneered the man, looking at Shirley’s shabby attire. “I suppose, when you came in here, you were sure you had money, were you?”