"You mean right here and now?"
"Yes."
"Sorry. I'd have to restrain you. You see, you couldn't get a legal
license nor go through any of the other legal activities, ergo there
would be a prima facie illegality about some part of the ceremony.
Without being definite as to which phase, I would find it my duty to
restrain you from indulging in any act the consummation of which would
be illegal."
Nora said in pseudo-petulant tone, "I've been damned with very faint
praise."
"How so?"
"Wally Wilson has just said that he'd rather marry me than go to the
Kentucky Derby with you."
Lieutenant Delancey said, "I urge you both to come along. You see, my
box is also being occupied by an old friend of yours. I managed to talk
him into joining us, and with reluctance he consented."
"I'm a mind reader," I said. "Our friend's name is Joseph Barcelona?"
"As they say on the space radio, 'Aye-firm, over and out!'"
* * * * *
Barcelona was there with two of his boys. Watching them were four
ununiformed officers. Nora and I and the lieutenant were joined later by
Gimpy Gordon, who might have been radiating childlike wonder and a
circus-air of excitement at actually being _at_ the Derby. He might have
been. No one could cut through the constant, maddening mental
blah-blah-blah that was being churned out by Barcelona's noisemakers.
He greeted me curtly, eyed Nora hungrily. He said: "You look pretty
confident, Wilson."
"I can't lose," I said.
"No? Frankly I don't see how you can win."
I smiled. "Without mentioning any names, Joseph, I feel confident that
the final outcome of this racing contest will be just as you want it to
be. I shall ask that no credit be given me, although I shall be greatly
admired by our mutual friend Miss Nora Taylor who will think that I am
truly wonderful for making you happy. And it is more than likely that
she may marry me once I have shown you, and she, _and_ Lieutenant
Delancey, that I am a law-abiding citizen as well as a man who values
friendship enough to do as his old pal Joe Barcelona desires."
"It's going to be one of the neatest tricks of the week," he said.
"It will be done by the proper application of laws," I said modestly.
Behind us, Gimpy Gordon light-fingered a half dollar out of Delancey's
pocket and was attracting the attention of a hot dog peddler by waving
his program. Some folks nearby were eying Barcelona's noisemakers
angrily but making very little visible protest once they identified him.
Nora was reading her program and underlining some horses. The whole
place began to grow into a strange excited silence as the track board
began to go up. It was to be a nine-horse race, and at the top of the
list were three--count them--three odds-on favorites:
1. Murdoch's Hoard 1:2
2. Mewhu's Jet 3:5
3. Johnny Brack 5:7
4. Piper's Son 8:5
5. Daymare 3:1
6. Helen O'Loy 8:1
And then, of course, there were our three mud turtles which must have
been entered by someone who thought that the Kentucky Derby was a
claiming race and who hoped that the LePage's Glue people would make a
bid for the three mounds of thoroughbred horseflesh that dropped dead in
the backstretch:
7. Flying Heels 100:1
8. Moonbeam 250:1
9. Lady Grace 500:1
The rack hadn't hit the top of the slide before there was a sort of
mass-movement towards the mutuel windows. The ones who didn't go in
person tried to hurl betting-thoughts in the hope of getting there early
and failing this they arose and followed the crowd. Slowly the odds
began to change; the figures on our three platers began to rise. There
was very little activity on the other six horses. Slow-thinking Gimpy
Gordon started to get up but I put out a hand to stop him.
"But the odds are dropping," he complained.
"Gimpy," I said, "they pay on the final listing anyway. But would you
like a tip?"
"Sure," he said nervously.
"My tip is to keep your cash in your pocket. Put it on the nose of some
horse and it's likely to get blown away by a high wind."
The odds were changing rapidly. What with psionic information receivers,
trend predictors and estimated anticipators, the mutuel computers kept
up with the physical transfer of funds, figured out the latest odds, and
flipped the figures as fast as the machinery could work the dials. In no
more than a few minutes the odds on the three platers looked more like
the odds on horses that stood a chance of winning.
* * * * *