Crane fell in behind a knot of loud-talking men. The two of large
proportions who had sat behind Allis, were like huge gate posts jammed
there in the narrow way. As he moved along slowly he presently had
knowledge of a presence at his side--a familiar presence. Raising his
eyes from a contemplation of the heels in front of him, he saw Belle
Langdon. She nodded with patronizing freedom.

"I lost you," she said.

"I was sitting with some friends here," he explained.

"Yes, I saw her," she commented pointedly.

At that instant one of the stout men in front said, with a bear's snarl,
"Well that's the worst ever; I've seen some jobs in my time, but this
puts it over anything yet."

"Didn't you back the little mare?" a thin voice squealed. It was the
'Pout.

"Back nothin'! The last time out she couldn't untrack herself; an'
today she comes, without any pull in the weight, and wins in a walk from
The Dutchman; and didn't he beat her just as easy the other day?"

Belle Langdon looked into Crane's face, and her eyes were charged with a
look of reciprocal meaning. Crane winched. How aggressively obnoxious
this half-tutored girl, mistress of many gay frocks, could make herself!
There was an implied crime-partnership in her glance which revolted him.
Dick Langdon must have talked in his own home. Crane's conscience--
well, he hardly had one perhaps, at least it was always subevident; to