_Wherein It Is Shown That, When There Is "Something Doing," a Bank-roll
Is Liable to Be Wrecked._
"I heard somewhere the other day," said one of a party of turfmen who
were dining together after the McGovern-Erne fight, "that Billy
Thompson, the ex-Duke of Gloucester, is trying to cook up some scheme
whereby the legal authorities of New Jersey 'll relent and permit him to
start the old Gloucester merry-go-round again. I don't think he'll make
it stick, if the story is true, but if Gloucester ever is started again
I know a man who'd be very liable to burn the barns down some dark
night. I don't think he'd let the Gloucester mud-lark and snow bird
race-track operate while he lives.
"In 1880 this man I'm talking about--he had passed up a good grocery
business to play the races a year before--had nursed together a wad of
about six thousand dollars, and this gave him a bad case of the Sandow
vest. He was so chesty over having all that money that he concluded he'd
try a whirl on the block. There was only winter racing going on when he
got that smoky notion into his hat, and that was at Gloucester. As you
fellows know, they used to run 'em there in snow up to the saddle
pommels, and the plug that could make out the best without going over
the fence, or that didn't become crazy from snow blindness, always
yanked down the money at Gloucester--that is, if he was meant to win.
"This ex-sugar-and-tea guy was a dead verdant one at the bookmaking game
when he went on the block at Gloucester, but he kept his ears open and
his mouth shut, and he had quite a streak of luck, besides, from the
go-off, so that at the end of his first week at laying odds he found
that he'd averaged a clean-up of about $200 a day. You couldn't see him
then without sending up your card, he was so vast and heap-much. He was
thinking of going down Dixieway to make a bid on the Belle Meade farm,
and, by the end of his third week on the block, when he had run his
$6000 into a bit more than $10,000, he was probably the haughtiest
gazabo on this side of the Rocky Mountains.
"One day--it was at the beginning of his fourth week at bookmaking--a
duck who had a string of good ones--of their kind--chasing the
Gloucester will-o'-the-wisp for the poolroom purses, invited himself to
take dinner with the ex-grocer with the streak of luck. After they had
stored the feed away at the high-riding bookmaker's Philadelphia hotel,
the man with the string leaned back in his chair and sprung what he had
in mind. He mentioned the star sprinter of his string.
"'You know, of course,' said he confidentially, to the ex-grocer, 'that
that nag can eat up any horse down here at three-quarters of a mile.
He'd never be beaten at that distance if we let him out every time he
went to the post to race. But, of course, if I'd let him win every time
out, there would never be any price on him. He'd be a 1 to 20 shot every
time he got a lead-pad on, and I'm not going down the line on that kind
of prices. Neither am I running my string over at Gloucester for
hygienic reasons. Perceive?'
"The new bookie perceived.
"'Well,' this oily geezer went on, 'that horse is entered in a
six-furlong sprint to-morrow, as you know. He'll probably be an
even-money favorite. He'll lose.'
"'He will, hey?' said the new man on the block, suspicious like. 'That's
darned good of you to tell me. But you're not telling me that for your
health, either. He's going to lose, eh?'
"'Yep, he'll lose,' repeated the smooth owner. 'Now, you're a pretty
nice young fellow, ain't you? I like you. Understand?'
"'Um,' said the ex-grocer. 'What's your graft, anyhow?'
"'Well, as I say, that skate of mine is going to lose,' said the
confidential owner once more. 'Now, you see this thousand-dollar
William, don't you? Well, I want you to take a thousand-dollars' worth
of my horse to win for my account, see, when you make your book on that
race. He may be as good as 2 to 1, but he's going to lose anyhow. You
see, I just want to pick up an honest dollar or so. You take this $1,000
of the suckers' money for me on your book, and your reward 'll be in
knowing what's going to happen. You can hunch up the price, see? Is it a
go?'
"Now, this looked like a pretty good thing to the groceryman. It looked
like taking candy from a child. If that owner's horse wasn't going to
lose, it looked like a cinch that he wasn't going to risk any
thousand-dollar bills on the game. So the new bookie told the owner that
he was on, took his $1,000, and figured on the pounding he was going to
give the talent the next day. He chuckled to himself when the other
books only laid even money against the sprinter when the betting on the
race began the next afternoon.
"'They wouldn't do a thing but fall over themselves to lay a long price
if they knew, like I do, that the favorite is going to kerflop,' mused
the ex-groceryman--he wailed me the whole spiel afterward--and he laid 2
to 1 against the sprinter's chances on his slate. The other bookies over
his way looked as if they thought he was wheely, but he only exulted
whole lots inside of him.
"'You are wise people,' he thought, 'but this is where I get the big end
of it.'
"Within three minutes after he had started his slate he had taken in the
horse owner's $1,000 worth of his horse at 2 to 1. The handicappers just
battled to get at his book at their figures. Said he to himself, 'I'll
just tap myself on this watermelon,' and by the time the horses went to
the post he had taken in $5,000 of the public money at 2 to 1 on that
horse that was going to lose, and he knew that he'd be just $5,000 to
the good.
"Of course you chaps are next. When the horses got away the skate that
the ex-grocer had laid his whole $1,000 against walked in on the bit,
fifteen lengths to the good in a buck-jump. He was under twenty wraps
all the way from the flag-fall.
"The new bookie paid out his $10,000, bought a clay pipe and an
eight-cent package of punk tobacco, and went out of business, and he's
been out of business ever since. It took him about a week to get
contiguous to the fact that the men who collected his $10,000 were the
smooth owner's commissioners, but when he went gunning the owner had
removed his string from Gloucester, and was taking a little winter
cruise in a felucca in the AEgean Sea. But if Gloucester ever starts up
again, and there's a conflagration, I'll know how it started."
"There's another chap that I know of who's been smoking unfragrant
tobacco in a pipe for a good many years on account of an outlaw track
deal," said one of the other turfmen at the table, "but he wasn't a new
man at the game. He was an old-timer--so much of an old-timer that it
was up to him to know that, once having made a tool of a man or a boy in
the racing business, it is never the part of wisdom to throw him
overboard on the presumption that he's a dead one. Turf followers, as
you fellows all know, have a habit of resurrecting themselves at
inopportune moments when it seems that they are so deeply buried that
they'll never struggle to the top of the ground again, and when they do
run a shoe-tongue into a tan-yard they are more than liable to get hunk
with former pals who have cast them aside in the hour of adversity. Now,
it is a particularly dangerous thing for any man connected with racing
to do business with a jockey. I never heard of a bit of jockey-tampering
that didn't get out sooner or later, to the disadvantage of the man that
did the corrupting. I guess we all know of cases in which jockeys, after
being ruled off for crooked work, have become exacting pensioners on the
hands of the men responsible for their downfall for long stretches of
years. The story I have in mind is of a jockey who, while he wasn't set
down through following the directions of the bookmaker he did business
with, was treated with characteristic meanness by the latter when he was
up against it owing to an accident; and the way this jock got even with
his former tamperer was unique.
"You all remember the boy Kelley? He wasn't exactly a boy at the time
this thing happened--he was a man of twenty-two or so, which probably
accounted for the fact that when he was riding at Guttenberg he had most
of the other jockeys faded; give me a rider with a man's hand on his
shoulders every time for my horse. Now, the morale of Guttenberg wasn't
like unto that pervading a theological institution, but Kelley the jock
wasn't any worse than his neighbors. He was like all the rest of the
people mixed up with the weird game at the Gut. It was a poor jock at
the Gut who didn't have a bookmaker on his staff, and Kelley wasn't a
poor jock by fifty good pounds under the saddle. It used to be an off
day with Kelley when he didn't put up a ride in accordance with this
bookmaker's orders. All of the jocks at the Gut did similar things, and
they were stood for. The hectic flush of humiliation didn't mantle the
alabaster countenances of the Gut stewards to any huge extent when the 1
to 5 shot was beaten a furlong. Kelley was enabled to throw big money
into his bookie's satchel, because, being such a top-notch rider of
outlaws, most of his mounts went to the post favorites; so that when he
snatched a horse it meant the good of the books, and of his bookmaker in
particular, for the latter would of course lay the longest price in
their judgment against one that he knew was going to run like a mackerel
along a dusty road. Kelley profited fairly well at the hands of this
bookmaker, and on his side he was absolutely loyal in his crookedness.
He invariably delivered the goods. He had the knack of making it appear
to the people with the field glasses that he was riding like a fiend,
when in reality he had his horse pulled double, and when he was
following orders he could permit the favorite under him to be beaten out
by a tongue on the wire in a way that would raise the hair of the folks
in the stand.
"Well, one day Kelley was dumped from a horse he was riding when the
track was slippery and broke his leg. He had been improvident and
extravagant, like most of the jocks of that day, so that when the
accident put him on the flat of his back he found himself broke. What
was more natural than that he should send to the bookmaker whose orders
he had been following for a long time for assistance? He wrote to the
bookie and asked for the loan of $100. The bookmaker ignored the
request. Then the laid-up jockey sent a friend to the bookmaker. The
latter made some remark about not coughing up for the oats and keep of
dead ones--figuring, you see, that Kelley's injuries were such that he
wouldn't be able to get back to the riding game until the close of the
meeting. So the jockey had to stave off doctors' and other bills as best
he could, and I guess that he set his teeth down pretty hard and did
some robust thinking while his leg was healing.
"A couple of months after this accident Kelley, somewhat pale, turned up
in the paddock at the Gut one morning and announced that he was fit to
ride again. His services were immediately in demand, and Mike Daly got
him to ride his horse Gloster in the first race on the card. Gloster was
the best horse in the race and was certain to be favorite. The bookie,
who had used Kelley before his accident and afterward turned him down,
got to Kelley by the underground process, through an agent, with the
inquiry as to whether a little business couldn't be done on Gloster.
Kelley, with all the good nature in life, sent word that there could,
certainly; that he could get Gloster beaten by an eyelash.
"The betting opened and Gloster was the favorite all over the ring at
odds of 1 to 2 on. Then Kelley's bookmaker began to shoot the price
up--first to 3 to 5 on, then to 4 to 5 on, then to even money, and then
right up to 6 to 5 and even 7 to 5 against. The way that bookie hauled
in the money on Gloster was a caution. It seemed that every plunger and
casual bettor in the inclosure wanted a piece of Gloster at Kelley's
bookmaker's odds--all the rest of the pencillers still held Gloster at 1
to 2 on--and the bookmaker took in thousands of dollars on the horse.
When they were still whacking him with Gloster bets he became somewhat
nervous and sent his agent to Kelley again for reassurance. Kelley told
the agent again that Gloster wasn't going to win.
"'He's taking in billions on Gloster,' said the agent to Kelley.
"'Let him handle the whole mint on the nag,' replied Kelley. 'Gloster
will just about get the place--maybe.'
"In the meantime the judges, who occasionally made a bluff at getting
haughty and virtuous, got next to the big odds that one
bookmaker--Kelley's bookmaker--was offering against Gloster, and,
naturally enough, they became suspicious. Five minutes before the horses
were due to go to the post, therefore, they called Kelley into the stand
and asked him squarely if there was anything doing by which Gloster was
going to get beat.
"'If Gloster doesn't win this race,' replied Kelley, 'you can rule me
off for life.'
"Kelley had put every man, woman, child and dog that he knew at the
track on to the fact that he was going to win by a Philadelphia block on
Gloster, and the bookmaker who had turned him down when he was on the
flat of his back with a broken stilt in the middle of winter got the
play of all of them. Dollar bets and $1,000 bets all looked alike to the
bookmaker. He took all the money that came along without rubbing. He
thought he had a corked-up good thing.
"When the bugle sounded and the horses emerged from the paddock, the
bookmaker, with his glasses in his hand, was leaning against the rail,
and he looked up with a grin to catch Kelley's eye as the jockey rode by
on Gloster. He caught Kelley's eye, but there was no responsive grin.
There was, instead, a dirty sneer on Kelley's drawn, pale mug, and, as
he caught sight of the leering bookie he drew Gloster up for just an
instant and spat viciously in the direction of the man who had treated
him with such ingratitude.
"The bookmaker saw in that instant that he was ditched. His face went
white, and he clutched the rail, and he was still digging his
fingernails into the rail when, a few minutes later, the victorious
Gloster, who had won by about half a furlong, was led into the paddock,
with Kelley walking alongside of him. When that bookie got through
paying off the Gloster bets he had taken in he was out of business, and
when the story of how it all came about leaked out, there wasn't a man
in the game that didn't say that the bookie got all that was coming to
him."