Garrisons Finish | Page 7

entered. He was a
small, hard man, with a face like an ice-pick and eyes devoid of pupils,
which fact gave him a stony, blank expression. In fact, he had been
likened once, by Jimmy Drake, to a needle with two very sharp eyes,
and the simile was merited. But he was an excellent flesh handler; and
Waterbury, an old ex-bookie, knew what he was about when he
appointed him head of the stable.
"Hello, Dan!" said Garrison, in the same tone he had used to greet Red.
He and the trainer had been thick, but it was a question whether that

thickness would still be there. Garrison, alone in the world since he had
run away from his home years ago, had no owner as most jockeys have,
and Crimmins had filled the position of mentor. In fact, he had trained
him, though Garrison's riding ability was not a foreign graft, but had
been bred in the bone.
"Hello!" echoed Crimmins, coming forward. His manner was cordial,
and Garrison's frozen heart warmed. "Of course you'll quit the game,"
ran on the trainer, after an exchange of commonalities. "You're queered
for good. You couldn't get a mount anywhere. I ain't saying anything
about your pulling Sis, 'cause there ain't no use now. But you've got me
and Mr. Waterbury in trouble. It looked as if we were in on the deal. I
should be sore on you, Garrison, but I can't be. And why? Because Dan
Crimmins has a heart, and when he likes a man he likes him even if
murder should come 'atween. Dan Crimmins ain't a welcher. You've
done me as dirty a deal as one man could hand another, but instead of
getting hunk, what does Dan Crimmins do? Why, he agitates his brain
thinking of a way for you to make a good living, Bud. That's Dan
Crimmins' way."
Garrison was silent. He did not try to vindicate himself. He had given
that up as hopeless. He was thinking, oblivious to Crimmins' eulogy.
"Yeh," continued the upright trainer; "that's Dan Crimmins' way. And
after much agitating of my brain I've hit on a good money-making
scheme for you, Bud."
"Eh?" asked Garrison.
"Yeh." And the trainer lowered his voice. "I know a man that's goin' to
buck the pool-rooms in New York. He needs a chap who knows the
ropes--one like you--and I gave him your name. I thought it would
come in handy. I saw your finish a long way off. This fellah's in the
Western Union; an operator with the pool-room lines. You can run the
game. It's easy. See, he holds back the returns, tipping you the winners,
and you skin round and lay the bets before he loosens up on the returns.
It's easy money; easy and sure."

Again Garrison was silent. But now a smile was on his face. He had
been asking himself what was the use of honesty.
"What d'you say?" asked Crimmins, his head on one side, his small
eyes calculating.
The smile was still twisting Garrison's lip. "I was going to light out,
anyway," he answered slowly. "I'll answer you when I say good-by to
Sis."
"All right. She's over there."
The handlers fell back in silence as Garrison approached the filly. He
was softly humming the music-hall song, "Good-by, Sis." With all his
faults, the handlers to a man liked Garrison. They knew how he had
professed to love the filly, and now they sensed that he would prefer to
say his farewell without an audience. Sis whinnied as Garrison raised
her small head and looked steadily into her soft, dark eyes.
"Sis," he said slowly, "it's good-by. We've been pals, you and I; pals
since you were first foaled. You're the only girl I have; the only
sweetheart I have; the only one to say good-by to me. Do you care?"
The filly nuzzled at his shoulder. "I've done you dirt to-day," continued
the boy a little unsteadily. "It was your race from the start. You know it;
I know it. I can't explain now, Sis, how it came about. But I didn't go to
do it. I didn't, girlie. You understand, don't you? I'll square that deal
some day, Sis. I'll come back and square it. Don't forget me. I won't
forget you--I can't. You don't think me a crook, Sis? Say you don't. Say
it," he pleaded fiercely, raising her head.
The filly understood. She lipped his face, whinnying lovingly. In a
moment Garrison's nerve had been swept away, and, arms flung about
the dark, arched neck, he was sobbing his heart out on the glossy coat;
sobbing like a little child.
How long he stayed there, the filly nuzzling him like a mother, he did
not know. It seemed as if he had