Pepper/The Bromides

NYTHING else, sir?" asked the bell-boy, snickering in his sleeve.

McHenry and Sewall, who were already exhuming clean linen from their suit-cases, straightened with one accord, and glared at him.

"Why, yes, there's something else," said McHenry pointedly. "You beat it downstairs and bring up some ice-water, and some stationery, and a dollar's worth of change, and a couple of morning papers, and then if you don't act too humorous, maybe you'll get what's coming to you!"

The chastened youth departed hastily, and McHenry, with a puzzled sigh, returned to his suit-case.

"Gee!" he complained, "I don't know what's the matter with me, but every time I get into a hotel, the whole gang from the room-clerk down to the shoe shine nigger tries to get funny! How long before you'll be ready for breakfast?"

"If you washed that soot off your nose," criticized Sewall, selecting a fresh tie to replace the one he had worn all the way from the Grand Central Terminal to the Hotel Belmont, "perhaps they wouldn't see so much to laugh at!"

McHenry glanced at the mirror, said "Holy mackerel!" and dived for the bath-room. By the time he had removed the cinders from his countenance, the bell-boy was back again with his consignment of merchandise, and accepted Pepper's quarter with no further display of merriment.

"But why in thunder," asked Sewall, as they waited for the elevator, "did you make that poor mutt go all the way downstairs for that junk? We had plenty of change, and we'd get newspapers in the office, and we didn't need ice-water or stationery—"

"Because," explained McHenry, lowering his voice out of deference to the feelings of the elevator-man, "everybody in New York is out to take our money away from us, Ted, and the only way to get even is to make 'em work for it."

Even after they had ordered breakfast—and the extent of their appetites staggered an experienced waiter—Sewall continued to ponder this last statement.

"You know, Pep," he said, "I'm beginning to lose my nerve. This party's going to cost us too blamed much!" "Of course it is! What's the fun of coming to New York on a gebee unless it costs too much?"

"Well, we could have stayed at a cheaper joint, and saved a lot of these fool tips, and had more money to spend on the party—"

"You talk like a farmer," stated McHenry, boldly attacking his grape-fruit. "Don't you know by this time that you never have enough to spend on the party, no matter how much of a tight-wad you are on the incidentals? Besides, look at the company we're in!"

"I think he was out too late last night," retorted Sewall, inclining his head towards the only other occupant of the café. "And, anyway, I'm not stuck on paying real money to watch anybody else eat!"

"Spend all you want," said Pepper generously, as he produced the huge roll of Confederate bills he had purchased at one of the irresistible novelty shops on Forty-Second Street. "I've got four thousand—let's paint the town!"

"Shut up, Pep! That guy heard you! He'll think we're horrible four-flushers!"

"Nonsense!" mumbled McHenry through the interstices of a hot muffin.

"But that's just what I'm talking about," went on Sewall, lowering his voice as he saw that the man at the nearby table was staring fixedly at them. "We've only got fifty dollars to see New York with; and yet you had to come over here on a crack night train to get an early start, and then you make us put up at a kennel like this where we've got to keep tipping all the time, and then you go and throw away three perfectly good dollars on a wad of Civil War currency! Why, for three dollars we could take a taxicab half way to Halifax—" he didn't say Halifax—"and back!"

"Oh, but this was too good to miss!" maintained Pepper, sliding the roll into his trousers pocket. "We can have a peach of a time scattering that around Cambridge—I've got it all doped out! Scared freshman comes in for a subscription to the track team—hand him a hundred—"

"Oh, you can't fool anybody with that stuff!"

"You bet I can! People aren't as smart as you think they are! And then on the general proposition—well, it's the first time I've been in New York for two years, and I don't care if they charge me a nickel a breath, I'll pant all I want to!"

"Shut up. Pep! That guy—"

"You're too blamed conceited, old top! He wasn't listening—there! he's going out." McHenry poured his third cup of coffee. "Besides," he added, "if he thought it was real money he may take us for a couple of steel magnets [sic] out on a joy-ride, and tell the reporters, and then the bell-hops won't laugh if we're all cinders!"

"Well, you talk too loud, Pep! I don't think it's a good plan to sing out anything about money in a place like this, and you yelled it out just as if you meant it."

"If you're going to deliver a lecture," said McHenry, rising, "you'd better hire a hall. And let me tell you something—you don't want to forget that your uncle J. P. M.—get the initials, do you?—was born in Chicago—and out there we call this flea-bitten little burg a suburb of Buffalo. Why, my dad would have the willies if he thought anybody tried to tell me how to behave on Forty-Second Street!"

They strolled out to the lobby, and took possession of two comfortable chairs.

"Well—life's blamed short, and we're only here for a little while," said Sewall. "If you're so keen to get started, Pep, let's go out and spend something!"

"Oh, stick around! I'm not going to cough up seven dollars a day for a room in this menagerie, and then not use the scenery! What could we do now, anyway?"

"We might take a walk—"

"Walk nothing! The only way I walk on this trip is in a taxi."

"Well, come on over and look at the dames on Fifth Avenue—"

"Dames nothing! It's too early. Let's get some cigars." "You get 'em."

"Yell for a waiter," said McHenry lazily, but noting that his friend was growing irritated, he got up, and set about the accumulation of enough tobacco to bridge the gap between breakfast and activity.

He was cynically inspecting the contents of the humidor when he observed that beside him stood the gentleman who had taken breakfast at the nearby table. This gentleman was attired somewhat more youthfully than you would have expected one of his age to dress, and he also wore a smile which was apparently a permanent part of his wardrobe. He regarded McHenry genially, and volunteered the information that it was a fine day.

"Good enough for New York," said Pepper, bringing out the roll of Confederate money, discovering the mistake, and hurriedly substituting a dollar bill of more negotiable tenor. The stranger opened his eyes, laughed easily, and suggested that the young man must come from the West.

"Chicago," said Pepper shortly.

"In-deed! Business there?"

"Oh, no—I don't work!" He lighted one of the cigars, and stowed the others away for Sewall.

"You're fortunate, sir!"

"If you call it fortunate to have to come to this bush town for a party," admitted McHenry. "Still—" Again the florid gentleman laughed easily.

"I'm not very familiar with New York myself," he alleged. "I'm much more at home in Chicago. My firm has a branch office there. I'm a broker—"

"Yes?" McHenry wanted to rejoin Ted Sewall, but he didn't like to be rude. Involuntarily he said, "My father's in the brokerage business—" and then he bit his tongue, and blushed.

"In-deed! I shouldn't wonder if I know him. The name is—?"

"McHenry," said Pepper unwillingly.

"Oh—John McHenry! Why, my dear boy! I'm doubly glad to meet you!" His fat face was fairly overloaded with cordiality, and he worked Pepper's forearm like a pump handle. "Old Jack McHenry!" Pepper winced. "Why, I've known Jack for twenty years! Surely you've heard him speak of Bill Green—that's me! Well, he's certainly to be congratulated! So are you, my boy! I hear he cleaned up a big deal in coppers last month—great head-work—glad to hear of it!" The story had been in all the Chicago papers, and every intelligent man in the Middle West knew McHenry's father. "Well, now, this is lucky! Just over for a good time, eh? Going to blow in all that money on a little spree—"

"All what money?" faltered Pepper. "Oh, I know you youngsters!" laughed the florid man. "Dad made a killing—sonny gets a rake-off! Listen! I'm just waiting around until my boat sails—going on the Pannonia—looking for a bit of a good time! You've got a friend with you—bring him along! It's my treat—and you're Jack McHenry's boy! Well, I'll be damned!" Pepper wondered if his three years at Cambridge had made him look less sophisticated than he felt; although he knew that his clothes were fully two weeks ahead of the current styles, and that his preternaturally solemn face and his new tortoise-rimmed spectacles made him look both older and more innocent than he really was. "I'll tell you—I'll take you down to the races in my car! You probably want some excitement, and—" he reduced his joviality to a confidential buzz—"I know a couple of good bookies—we'll have a guess at the ponies, what? Well, well, well I Just dropped in to get rid of some of daddy's roll! Boys will be boys—still a boy myself! Don't get shy,—I'll never tell Jack I saw you—why, I haven't laid eyes on him since nineteen nine! And you're his son—you bet I won't let you use up your kale when Bill Green's around! Not when you're a son of Jack McHenry!"

At about this period of the world's history, McHenry saw the light, and when, ten minutes later, Ted Sewall came nervously down the broad stairway to see what had become of him, he was met with a volley of winks which utterly bewildered and disturbed him.

"Hello, Ted!" greeted McHenry, winking more violently. "Meet Mr. Green—friend of dad's! I told him we were on from Chicago to buy a party, and he wants to take us down to Sheepshead in his car." He winked prodigiously, and stepped on Sewall's toe.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Green," lied Sewall, dazed, but obedient. The florid gentleman excused himself to telephone, and Sewall addressed his friend in words of Anglo-Saxon origin and clearness.

"Keep your shirt on!" hissed McHenry. "It's a circus—he must have spotted that collection of Jeff Davis bills, and thinks we're a couple of suckers! They're all yellow—and he calls my father Jack! He must know him better than my mother does!"

"But—but, Pep—"

"Say,' said McHenry impatiently, "are we on a party, or a Sunday-school picnic? Jolly along—don't mention Harvard! Let him think we're right from the West! Be as much of an ass as you can! Talk like a fool! Blat about big money—we're a pair of rich rounders from Chicago, and there's going to be some fun in it! I don't know what the game is—but me for it!"

"But—but he looks like a crook—"

"Darn it, he is! Of course he is! That's where the fun comes in!"

"But, Pep—we're not—we ought not to get messed up—he'll rook us as sure as fate!"

"Why, you frantic idiot!" said McHenry in his ear, as the smiling gentleman approached them from the telephone booths, "what do you think I'm letting him kid me for? This'll be the funniest party ever you went on! I tell you—I'm from Chicago! I'm going to rook him!"

After the races they dined at Claremont—McHenry and Sewall and the perennially smiling Mr. Green, Florence, and Myrtle, and Sadie. It was difficult to determine just where the last three joined the aggregation—after it was all over, Sewall said that they must have been waiting in the grand-stand, but McHenry was inclined to believe that they simply materialized when Green perceived that the boys were bored—just as live rabbits and the silk flags materialize from the empty hat when the prestidigitateur makes mystic passes with his hand. Mr. Green said they were dear old friends from socially prominent New York families, but that was after Myrtle had confessed to McHenry that she lived on West Twenty-Third Street. Still, cloak models happen in the best regulated families of society! At any rate they dined together, as they had enjoyed the day together, at Mr. Green's expense; and it wasn't until the liqueurs were served that Sewall was able to remove his gaze from Sadie's hat, which was a marvelous confection composed of a velvet layer-cake, of the color of grape-juice, adorned with an ostrich feather and three limes. He was induced to withdraw his attention from it by the fact that Mr. Green leaned far over the table, glanced about to see that neither Andrew Carnegie nor a detective was within earshot, and stated his proposition. "Well, boys and girls," he began, "we're all friends—and I'd like to do a good turn for the son of my old pal out in Chi—I don't see why I shouldn't let you in on a little deal—"

"So do I!" agreed Florence promptly. "That is, if there's any money in it!"

"There is!" He sobered impressively. "The fact is—it's a sure thing!"

"Oh, they all are!"

"Bromide number 999," giggled Myrtle, powdering her nose under pretense of covering a sneeze.

"Not a bit of it! We've all been down to Sheepshead—I win a hundred—mere chicken-feed—"

"Lead me to the hen-coop!" begged Sadie. "I need to pick up some of that kind of grub!"

"Listen! It wasn't this way in the good old days—take it from me! This idea of sneaking up to a bookie in a dark corner, and betting fifty cents, doesn't hit me for sour shucks! There isn't any life in it! Now I do happen to know—I heard about—a simple little scheme by which we can beat 'em to it!" He reached over to tap McHenry on the arm. "You're not listening," he said accusingly.

"Of course I am. If it's a song, I like the music so far—how do the words go?"

"Well—you told me you'd never been to see the ponies before—"

"Right-o!" admitted the gallant Pepper, smiling at his friend Mrytle.

"Just the same, you know what a pool-room is—"

"I do!" crowed Sewall, following out his instructions. "I play kelly like a wiz! Want to see me?"

"No—I mean a pool-room in the sporting sense. Get it?"

"Oh!"

"I know," said McHenry.

"Good! Well—I know one of the protected rooms—"

"Protected by what?"

"The police!" said Mr. Green impatiently. "It's down near your hotel, by the way. Well, you understand, of course, that if you didn't want to travel all the way down to Sheepshead, you could slip in to Honest John's, and lay all you wanted—"

"Lay what?" inquired Sewall innocently, and then, also carrying out his orders, he beckoned to a waiter, and told him to bring some cigars of any good dollar brand.

"Lay your bets," explained Mr. Green, as soon as the waiter was out of hearing. "You'd get the same odds as you could at the track, and you'd get the returns over the wire—"

"That's a lot better than wasting time at the Bay," declared Sadie vivaciously. "I'd bet on a turtle race—but I'd hate to watch it."

"Let's take a shot at it," suggested McHenry. "I don't want to kill another day dodging automobile traps—I like action!"

"You're a true sport," proclaimed Mr. Green. "That's one grand little thing about you Chicago boys—you're real sports, and if there's any man I like, it's a real sport! I'm proud to know you!"

"Where does the money come in?" demanded Florence.

"Simply this—" Again he swept the terrace for possible eavesdroppers. "Yesterday I ran across a man I once helped out of a hole—an old telegraph operator—and he's got the only sure thing in the world! You swear you'll never breathe a word of this?" They all swore it cheerfully. "Wire tapping!" said Mr. Green, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Thought that was what they use to signal from cell to cell in the jail," said Sewall, tossing a silver dollar to a small newsboy who ventured to approach them.

"Oh, no—you've thinking of something else—"

"Tell us about it!"

"Well—this young fellow just finished yesterday—he's tapped the Sheepshead wire!"

"Go to your room, Sheepshead!" ordered McHenry, in the supulchral [sic] tone of a senior society man.

"That's tap-day all right!" grinned Sewall.

"Don't you understand?" queried Mr. Green solicitously. "He's cut into the wire that runs from the track right to this pool-room I was speaking about. He's in a room less than a block away—he gets the information, holds it up for five or six minutes—long enough to tip off a few friends, who hustle over to place bets on the horse that's already won—and then when he's safe, he relays the results to the pool-room!" He leaned back, and smiled benignly. "Don't you call that a sure thing, boys and girls?"

"It sounds reasonable," hesitated McHenry. "Only—"

"Only what?"

"Why, down there to-day the bookmakers wouldn't take bets after the race started—and if the pool-room had the same rule—"

"Why, don't you see? The track wires 'They're off!' Now as soon as that reached the room, they'd quit taking bets. But my young friend gets the info—it comes right into his place! It doesn't go through at all—not until he chooses to pass it along! So—it takes say one forty to run the mile. Along comes the report to my friend. The pool-room hasn't got the flash that they've started! They will take bets! Over hustles a man with a wad to put down on the horse that won! My friend waits until it's a cinch—then he clicks on his key, 'They're off!' Pool-room quits taking bets! A minute and forty seconds later my friend clicks off the winners! Don't you get it yet?"

"I do!" cried Sadie excitedly. "Say—put down a dollar ninety-eight for me, will you?" "What do I need money for?" chortled Sewall. "Why—if we could get a good one, say, a thousand to one shot—"

"Or three or four medium ones," said McHenry thoughtfully.

"I don't think any more of a dime than I do a broken leg," stated Myrtle, "Let me in on that, will you?"

"It's an absolutely sure, double-riveted, copper-fastened cinch!" promised Mr. Green, pounding the table with his fat fist to show sincerity. "Now, here's the idea—"

"Oh, wait a minute!" begged Sewall, trying to act as though the thought had just arrived. "Is it honest?"

Florence and Myrtle and Sadie simultaneously reached for their glasses. Sadie strangled, but the others were in time.

"Honest? Sure! Why, look here! These books are all crooked! You know that as well as I do! They lay odds, and even up things so they're bound to win! Is that honest? No! Well. ... I say that when a guy is out to do you, it's honest to do him, if you can get there first! That's all. Figure it out for yourself. Don't you remember when that skinny man this afternoon wouldn't take my bet on First Consul to show? Why? Simply because he couldn't take any more of First Consul without taking a chance! They work out the odds, and how much they can afford to take on every horse, so it's a matter of percentage. That's it—percentage! Individuals win, individuals lose—the books always make a percentage. Is that honest? No. So I'll get back at 'em any way I can. It's as fair for one as it is for the other!"

"I see the point," said McHenry. "Only, you see, Ted and I have a date to-morrow—are you going over to see that lightning-jerker friend of yours?"

"You bet I am! I'm not too proud to pick up a spare thou or two on the side!"

To Sewall's horror and amazement, McHenry leisurely abstracted a genuine twenty-dollar bill from his small capital, and tossed it across the table. "Put that up for me, will you?" he said carelessly. "No hurry about this, is there? Racing lasts another month. Let's see if the thing is all right. If this gets over, we'll make a killing!"

"Killing is right," agreed Mr. Green, stuffing the bill in his waistcoat pocket. "Mr. Sewall?"

Sewall, goggle-eyed but still utterly confident in his friend, produced a ten-dollar gold piece.

"That'll do for a starter," he said. "Let's see if it's right before we go ahead with a fat one."

"Myrtle—Sadie—Flo?"

They each sought the treasury, and laid on the table the currency which Mr. Green had furnished them for this specific occasion.

"We'll meet here at seven for dinner to-morrow night," he decided. "I'll have the kale with me—if we win, and I sort of think we will!" He chuckled. "I'm a little shy myself, boys—the wires may not be working well yet, you know—we'll soon find out. And then—"

"By gosh!" said McHenry suddenly, "if I could double my wad, I'd buy that Packard!"

"Double it? My boy—well, we'll see! Now who's game for a good show?"

"I'm not," said Pepper, yawning. "We've been traveling a long time—I want to get some sleep!"

"Same here," said Sewall.

Mr. Green and the girls looked disappointed.

"Well—it isn't eight o'clock yet—"

"I think we'll walk downtown, and turn in."

"Oh, take it easy! The evening's young yet—"

"That's all right. I'm dead tired. We'll be here at seven to-morrow?"

"Y-e-e-s—seven—but I wish you'd change your mind—"

"Couldn't think of it," insisted McHenry, and he and Sewall rose, and prepared to go.

Miss Myrtle, who had taken a violent fancy to McHenry, also rose, and squeezed his hand.

"Say," she whispered, "you're all right—d' you know it? Let's make a date for to-morrow afternoon sometime—I want to slip you some news!"

The young man from Chicago looked straight into her eyes, and lost somewhat of his flippant assurance. She wasn't at all like the magazine pictures of New York society girls, she was obviously of the other side of life, but as she stood there holding McHenry's hand, and meeting his gaze squarely, there was something in her expression which convinced, and sobered him. He said to himself that she couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen years old, and a couple of seasons ago she must have been very pretty ... and here she was telling him, as plainly as her eyes could convey the information, that he was a very nice young man, and that she liked him, and didn't want him to make any mistakes. McHenry was touched, for he knew that she was undoubtedly to have shared in the dividends.

"Never mind," he assured her. "I'm a lot brighter than I look."

"Oh, really?"

"Absolutely!" He said good-by to the others, thanked Mr. Green for the entertainment, and lingered for a last word with Myrtle.

"Why?" he murmured.

"Well. ... I don't know. ..."

"Come on! Tell me!"

"I don't know... you're different. ..."

"How?"

"Why ... I don't know ... you understand, though. ... I'll see you to-morrow night here. ... good-night!"

"Good-night," said McHenry.

For all his cleverness he didn't know, just as for all her worldly wisdom Myrtle didn't know, that for the moment she was metamorphosed into a close approximation of a lady, simply because McHenry was the first gentleman she had ever met in her life.

"You took long enough!" complained Sewall at the coat-room.

"Too long," conceded Pepper seriously. "A minute longer and I'd have spoiled the fun—darn it, man, I'm beginning to get sorry for 'em!"

Like leopards seeking refreshment in the early morn, McHenry and Sewall slunk from their hotel to breakfast in a dairy-lunch room across the street. It wasn't a part of their program to meet the effusive Mr. Green before nightfall, and they were at some pains to avoid him. They didn't dare to give up their room, for fear that he might telephone, or inquire for them at the desk, but they packed their suit-cases ready for instant departure. They spent the day at Coney Island, where amusement was cheap, and came back to the city with a bamboo walking-stick, a horn-handled knife, three souvenir post-cards and two cases of indigestion. At a quarter of seven they strolled onto the Claremont terrace, and found Miss Myrtle sitting alone at a large table.

"Beat it!" said McHenry to Sewall, and Sewall took the hint. Pepper sat down, and volunteered the delicate compliment that Miss Myrtle had beautiful eyes.

"Oh, don't!" she said. "You know ... I'm awfully glad you showed up early. I was crazy to have a couple of minutes—"

"Why?" reiterated Pepper mercilessly.

"I told you, I don't know! I don't know! Only I saw right away you wasn't the regular kind—it sort of made me sick to sit around here and see Murphy string you—"

"Murphy?"

"Sure. That's his real name. We've in with him sometimes—you wouldn't get wise even if I told you. It's sort of funny when you come to think of it—I ain't used to passing up good things like you and your friend—"

"Mighty nice of. you, Myrtle," he appreciated. "You're a great kid!"

"No—some kinds of money's nicer than others. I don't want yours. I don't know!"

"Myrtle," he said, "what do you want most in this world, anyway?"

"That's a queer one—money, I guess."

"Well, next to money?"

"Please cut it out!" she pleaded.

"No—I really want to know."

"Well—clothes!" she blurted. "If you want to know—they help a lot! You've got to have 'em if you want to get anywhere."

"Tell me this—what's ahead?"

"What 's—oh, I see!" She drummed on the table, and paid close attention to her fingers. "You are green, aren't you? Do you suppose I know?"

"What I'm trying to get at is this," said McHenry diffidently. "Of course this is a real experience for Ted and me—"

"Oh, I knew that! Nobody could look at you two shakes without knowing you're a couple of—infants."

"Zowie!" breathed the young man who boasted that he came from Chicago. "Is it really as bad as that?"

"Sure it is," she laughed.

"But that isn't why you tried to—warn us—"

"No—but mostly Murphy and us deals with—well, suckers! You know—tin horn sports. They sop up champagne, and get fresh with us—oh, that's all part of the business—I don't mind working games on them—"

McHenry took her hand over the table, and hoped that Sewall wasn't looking.

"Myrtle," he said, "you're one of the nicest girls I ever knew!" For the first time in several months she blushed without artificial assistance. "Why don't you get out of it?" he demanded eagerly. "You could if you wanted to! I'm awfully interested in this thing—" "Sure you are," she retorted bitterly. "Interested! This is some party for you, isn't it? And you'll go home and tell all your nice friends what a rough time you had in New York! Look here, kid—be fresh if you have to—be spoony if you want to—but for God's sake don't be just interested! I haven't seen a kid like you for so long—the worst of us have good days, you know—Murphy's a Catholic—I've seen him come back from confession with the tears rolling down his face, swearing he'd turn straight—that's all—I liked you!" she finished breathlessly.

"Ah! That's it, is it? You—you were willing to throw down your—these people because you liked me?"

"I'm not throwing them down! You said you're wise—"

"Yes, but you didn't know it until I told you! Look here, Myrtle—can't you cut it out—"

"Don't waste your time, little one!" she interrupted. "Sometimes it's good fun—I make enough to worry along—I like it!"

"You do?" He was baffled, and distressed.

"Sure I do!"

"And you wouldn't quit—not if I could get you a mighty good place—"

"A job?"

"Why, yes," he stammered. "A good one! She shook her head decisively.

"Not on your life! Why, you poor little kid! You think I'm one of these broken-hearted—why, look here! Do you know the biggest puzzle I've got? How to get a new summer suit!" She lolled easily in her chair, and laughed at him with her mouth; and he was too dazed to see that her eyes weren't laughing at all.

"Well—" he said lamely. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? I'm not! I'm just glad to know you. You've been like a glass of ice-water after a party—here they come!"

McHenry struggled to his feet to shake hands with the advancing cohort. The girls welcomed him jocosely; and Sewall, appearing from the inn, hailed them with inanities. Mr. Green beckoned to a waiter, and said "Three quarts!" Then he grinned craftily, and ordered heads to be put together. "Oh, it's a lead pipe cinch!" he cackled. "Softest thing in the world! Do you know what we caught? Seven to one shot! Remember what I told you about these crooked rooms? Seven to one they gave us—the gelding was ten to one at the track! See? They shaved the odds on us! But—just the same—we copped!" He produced yellow bills, and tossed them on the table. "McHenry, boy, you win one forty—Sewall, you win seventy—so do the girls! I'm no piker—I win a thousand! See the big ones?" He waved a portly roll before their dazzled eyes.

"Gosh! Me for a killing!" quoth McHenry, and the fat man's eyes glistened.

"Keep my seventy," said Sewall, in delirious excitement. "Keep it till to-morrow—" Mr. Green shook his head.

"Nix, no, and nope! We're all through for to-day! Now we'll have a bite, and take in the Winter Garden, and to-morrow afternoon we'll all go 'round for the plunge!"

"I can't go to-morrow either—I've got a date," alleged Pepper. "You take the wad now, will you?"

"Take mine too!" begged Florence and Sadie, picking up their cues admirably.

Mr. Green refused, smilingly. He said he wouldn't take the responsibility of handling all that money. He didn't even want to act as treasurer overnight. He insisted that McHenry ought to report in person, and when Pepper allowed himself to be persuaded, it was arranged that they should all meet at the hotel for lunch, and then the girls could wait while the men sallied forth in quest of gigantic profits.

"Good!" ejaculated Mr. Green. "You're a real sport, my boy—true son of your father! And Gad! how I love a true sport!" But by this time McHenry was so sure of himself that he didn't need Miss Myrtle's hand under the table to tell him that the stage was being set for the grand climax. All that disturbed him was that he and Sewall had to stay over another day.

They were to lunch at one. At half-past twelve McHenry, still coaxing his nonplussed friend, paid the hotel bill, had the suit-cases checked at the Grand Central, and bought tickets for Boston on the three o'clock. At lunch he talked foolishly and extravagantly of mythical deeds in Chicago, and partly verified them by sending a messenger out to buy orchids for the girls, and dollar perfectos for the men. He mentioned imaginary deals in the stock market, and said that bridge for less than ten cents a point was a wilful squandering of precious time. He gave the head-waiter five dollars for reserving a corner table, and when Sadie said she didn't like his tie, he sent another messenger to a haberdasher's across the street to buy half a dozen new ones, and retired downstairs to don the one which Sadie liked. Sewall sat stupefied, and thought of Bloomingdale, and Matteawan, and Waverly.

"Well, boys and girls," began Mr. Green at last. "We'd ought to be moving. First race in half an hour. Now—we men go over to the room, see? Two of us are pikers—it wouldn't look right if three of us laid big wagers on one race. You get the point—sure! So—we all go in, and bet ten dollars on the first race. Then we wait for the word. My telegraph friend's going to hang on for a big one—five or six to one shot—and when it comes, he'll send a pal of his over to us. I know the pal—he comes in, goes up to the grill, planks down his money, and makes his bet. The one of us who handles the big money's right behind him. You get it, do you? Not a word exchanged—nothin' suspicious—the pal makes a bet, and we follow. Now the way to do it is to dope it out before the start. One man'd better carry the big roll with him." He made sure that they were not spied upon by any of the Pinkertons, and brought out a leather wallet from a side-pocket. "Here—he'd better carry it in this. Mine's two thousand," and he ostentatiously slipped four crackling notes into the wallet, and handed it to McHenry.

Sewall held his breath, his palms suddenly gone moist, and his heart pounding; but Pepper merely reached into his trousers, and inserted a thick sheaf of bills beside Mr. Green's contribution. Under his lashes he stole a glance at Myrtle—and was sorry for her.

"Our whole wad," said McHenry lightly. "Four thousand even. Don't call on Sewall, Mr. Green—this is for both of us!" He passed the wallet to Sadie, who giggled and said "Mine's only fifty," and she in turn delivered it to Florence, and Myrtle. The net amount, according to the statements they made, was sixty-three hundred dollars. Mr. Green took the treasure to himself, and patted it affectionately, then put it in his pocket.

"At the same time," he hesitated, "I don't know—maybe it would be just as well if one of you young fellows took care of this. I'll tell you! We'll fix it this way! McHenry, boy, you be the plunger! You see, I was in there yesterday—"

"Will you excuse us just a minute?" asked Florence, winning an extra wide smile from the fat man because of her timeliness. The three girls departed, two of them blithely, and Myrtle with lagging feet, and an expression on her face which pained Pepper, and made him wish she understood.

"You see, I was in there yesterday, and cashed in, and maybe it wouldn't look right—they might hold out our money on us if they got cagey—if I brought you two in to-day, and we all cashed again. McHenry holds the wad, and I'll just pike along. It'll look better."

"Suits me!" said Pepper, accepting the wallet.

"Wait a second—" He plucked out a fifty-dollar bill, and put it back again. "Thought I saw a twenty," he apologized. "I knew nobody wanted a twenty, so I thought somebody's made a mistake. Say—well, I'll be da—why, there's Jimmy McChesney out there in the lobby! I haven't seen him for— Excuse me half a second while I shake hands with him?"

McHenry hung on the edge of his chair until the fat man was out of sight; then he clutched Sewall by the arm.

"Come on—beat it, Ted!"

"Wha—what's that?"

"Come on, I tell you!" He dragged his friend out to the check-room, secured their hats, and sped out of the great hotel, across the street towards the station. It was ten minutes of three. The sign, "Ladies Tailor" on a ground-floor shop caught his eye, and he dashed inside, leaving Sewall gasping on the sidewalk. Almost immediately he was back again, spurting for the parcel-room where the suit-cases were stored. He led Sewall a merry chase through the concourse, ducked past the gateman, swung aboard the express, dropped into a seat, and laughed until he cried.

"Why, Pep—why, Pep!" panted his friend. "What's the—matter? What kind of a fool stunt—is this! What—"

McHenry, weak from laughter, tossed him the wallet.

"O-open it!" he managed between gusts of joy.

Sewall opened it, and took out the contents. There was a counterfeit fifty-dollar bill—the one which Green had carefully displayed to them—and a stack of neatly cut yellow paper, the size of bank bills.

"Well—I'll be darned!" faltered Sewall.

"Oh, my boy! my boy!" gasped Pepper. "Wasn't it beautiful! And he said himself it's all right to do anybody who's aiming to do you! He said it himself! And I did it! I wish I could see his face—when he finds out that's Confederate money!" He writhed on his seat, and Sewall grew flaming red.

"But, Pep—"

"We had our party," croaked Pepper, wiping away the tears, "and it didn't cost us a cent—we've been to Coney, and the races—and the theater—and eaten in first-class joints—and stayed at a big hotel—and we came away with more than a hundred dollars—"

"Why, Pep!"

"Only—I hope you won't be sore, old scout—you know when I beat it into that tailor's?"

"What in the mischief—"

McHenry grew serious.

"I couldn't help it," he said, with a great sigh. "I just couldn't help it, Ted—it was a lot of fun, but we couldn't keep his dirty money—I did the only thing I could think of—I gave that tailor the hundred we had left, and told him a lady'd come in for a suit—"

"Why, you crazy fool!" yelled Sewall.

"Oh, I got a receipt! I'll write to her from Cambridge and tell her to go up and get her summer suit! You see—after the way Myrtle tried to tip us off—and the talk I had with her, I felt so sorry—but darn it, Ted, there isn't anything we could do for her—so I thought the least we could do was to help her along the best way we could—Green's bought her a hundred dollars' worth of clothes!" He collapsed utterly, and didn't recover until they were across the Harlem, gathering speed for the run to distant Boston. "I told you we ought to stay at a big hotel," declared Sewall triumphantly. "Think of what we'd have missed by going to a little one—the way you wanted! Gee! what a party! And it didn't cost us anything either!"

"No, not in one sense—let's have something to smoke in the club car!" Instinctively he fumbled for change. "You'll have to pay, Ted—I've got just seventeen cents left."

"Why—that's funny! I've—why, I've only got eight!"

The men who had talked of deals on the market, of cars, and of thousands to risk in a New York pool-room, looked at each other and smiled feebly.

"If we dodge the porter—" murmured Sewall.

"Sure we can," said McHenry. "Come on, Ted, They must have two for a quarter cigars on this train!"