"Who ... me? Why, I didn't do anything that you did not start--except
that maybe I was a little more generous."
"_Spiel!_" he snarled.
"Why, shucks, Joseph. All I did was to slip good old Gimpy Gordon a
tip."
"How much?"
"Just a lousy little thousand dollar bill."
"A grand! For what, wise guy?"
"Why, just for telling me what horses you picked for the Derby."
Barcelona looked at the odds on his horses. Flying Heels had passed even
money and was heading for a one-to-two odds-on. The other platers were
following accordingly.
"And what did you tell Gimpy, Wilson?"
"You tell him, Gimp," I said.
"Why, Wilson just said that we should ride along with you, Mr.
Barcelona, because you are such a nice guy that everybody works awfully
hard to see that you get what you want."
"There's more!" roared Barcelona.
"Only that I shouldn't mention it to anybody, and that I shouldn't place
my bet until the mutuel windows open because if I did it would louse up
the odds and make you unhappy." Gimpy looked at Barcelona's stormy face
and he grew frightened. "Honest, Mr. Barcelona, I didn't say a word to
nobody. Not a word." He turned to me and whined plaintively, "You tell
him, Mr. Wilson. I didn't say a word."