The Cherub pursed his fat round lips in a soft whistle of enlightenment.
It had staggered him at first that Crane, for whose acumen he had a
profound respect, should have intended such a hazardous gamble; now he
saw light.

"Then my book is full on the Porter mare?" he said, inquiringly. Crane
nodded his head.

"An' I lay against the Hanover colt?"

Again Crane nodded.

"It's not bookmaking," continued Faust.

"I'm not a bookmaker," retorted Crane. "And see here, Faust," he
continued, "when you've got my money on the Porter mare--when and how I
leave to you--I want you to cut her price short--do you understand?
Make her go to the post two to one on, if you can; don't forget that."

"If the mare goes wrong?" objected Faust.

"I don't think she will, but you needn't be in a hurry--there's plenty
of time."

"What's the limit?" asked Faust.

"I want her backed down to even money at least," Crane answered;
"probably ten thousand will do it. At any rate you can go that far."