Garrisons Finish | Page 6

an idol to any one.
"Hello!" returned Red non-committally.
"Where's Crimmins?"
"In there." Red nodded to the left where were situated the stalls.
"Gettin' Sis ready for the Belmont opening."
"Riding for him now?"
"Yeh. Promised a mount in th' next run-off. 'Bout time, I guess."
There was silence. Garrison pictured to himself the time when he had
won his first mount. How long ago that was! Time is reckoned by
events, not years. How glorious the future had seemed! He slowly

seated himself on a box by the side of Red and laid a hand on the
other's thin leg.
"Kid," he said, and his voice quivered, "you know I wish you luck. It's
a great game--the greatest game in the world, if you play it right." He
blundered to silence as his own condition surged over him.
Red was knocking out his shabby heels against the box in an agony of
confusion. Then he grew emboldened by the other's dejected mien. "No,
I'd never throw no race," he said judicially. "It don't pay--"
"Red," broke in Garrison harshly, "you don't believe I threw that race?
Honest, I'm square. Why, I was up on Sis--Sis whom I love, Red--
honest, I was sure of the race. Dead sure. I hadn't much money, but I
played every cent I had on her. I lost more than any one. I lost--
everything. See," he ran on feverishly, glad of the opportunity to
vindicate himself, if only to a stable-boy. "I guess the stewards will let
the race stand, even if Waterbury does kick. Rogue won square
enough."
"Yeh, because yeh choked Sis off in th' stretch. She could ha' slept
home a winner, an' yeh know it, Billy," said Red, with sullen regret.
There was a time when he never would have dared to call Garrison by
his Christian name. Disgrace is a great leveler. Red grew more
conscious of his own rectitude.
"I ain't knockin' yeh, Billy," he continued, speaking slowly, to lengthen
the pleasure of thus monopolizing the pulpit. "What have I to say? Yeh
can ride rings round any jockey in the States--at least, yeh could." And
then, like his kind, Red having nothing to say, proceeded to say it.
"But it weren't your first thrown race, Billy. Yeh know that. I know
how yeh doped it out. I know we ain't got much time to make a pile if
we keep at th' game. Makin' weight makes yeh a lunger. We all die of
th' hurry-up stunt. An' yeh're all right to your owner so long's yeh make
good. After that it's twenty-three, forty-six, double time for yours. I
know what th' game is when you've hit th' top of th' pile. It's a fast mob,

an' yeh got to keep up with th' band-wagon. You're makin' money fast
and spendin' it faster. Yeh think it'll never stop comin' your way. Yeh
dip into everythin'. Then yeh wake up some day without your pants,
and yeh breeze about to make th' coin again. There's a lot of wise eggs
handin' out crooked advice--they take the coin and you th' big stick.
Yeh know, neither Crimmins or the Old Man was in on your deals, but
yeh had it all framed up with outside guys. Yeh bled the field to soak a
pile. See, Bill," he finished eloquently, "it weren't your first race."
"I know, I know," said Garrison grimly. "Cut it out. You don't
understand, and it's no good talking. When you have reached the top of
the pile, Red, you'll travel with as fast a mob as I did. But I never threw
a race in my life. That's on the level. Somehow I always get blind dizzy
in the stretch, and it passed when I crossed the post. I never knew when
it was coming on. I felt all right other times. I had to make the coin, as
you say, for I lived up to every cent I made. No, I never threw a race--
Yes, you can smile, Red," he finished savagely. "Smile if your face
wants stretching. But that's straight. Maybe I've gone back. Maybe I'm
all in. Maybe I'm a crook. But there'll come a time, it may be one year,
it may be a hundred, when I'll come back-- clean. I'll make good, and if
you're on the track, Red, I'll show you that Garrison can ride a harder,
straighter race than you or any one. This isn't my finish. There's a new
deal coming to me, and I'm going to see that I get it."
Without heeding Red's pessimistic reply. Garrison turned on his heel
and entered the stall where Sis, the Carter Handicap favorite, was being
boxed for the coming Belmont opening.
Crimmins, the trainer, looked up sharply as Garrison