_Narrative of the Red-Haired, Freckle-Faced Tout Who Had a Good Thing up
His Sleeve._
When the first line of betting on the fifth race at Gravesend was
chalked up shortly after 4 o'clock in the Harlem street poolroom on
Wednesday afternoon last, the red-haired, freckle-faced tout gave one
swift glance at the figures, clutched his armful of "dope" books and
sped over to a corner of the room where two flashy, well-fed looking
chaps sat tilted back in chairs, smoking and unconcernedly waiting for
the running of a race at Latonia in which they had a good thing.
"Here's the soft spot o' your life," said the red-haired, freckle-faced
tout, pulling a chair up alongside the two unconcerned-looking chaps.
"This'll be like pullin' th' milk teeth out o' a fox terrier's face.
This is a real dill pickle. Are you two comin' out into th' garden,
Maud, or are you goin' t' let this one get away from you."
"Back t' your dray," said one of the unconcerned-looking chaps. "Another
stiff, hey? T' your dray!"
The red-haired, freckle-faced tout pulled his chair closer to them.
"But this is th' hand-made, copper-coiled mash," said he, earnestly.
"It's on'y onct in a while that you get them people that lays th'
figures out o' line like they are on this one. This is th' mellow goods.
Just send a few aces along on it, that's all. It's 100 to 1."
"Now you stawp, Red!" said the other unconcerned-looking man. "You
stawp, you rude thing!"
"He'll come home on th' bit," said "Red." "Lemme show you where he's
been landin', an' you can see if he's any 100 t' 1 toss. Lemme pass you
th' line, an' if you don't take none o' it, then I'm on a cattle boat by
way o' Glasgow," and the red-haired, freckle-faced tout opened up one of
his dope books and started to show the pair of flashy looking chaps
where Rolling Boer had finished in his previous races.
"Go take a sail with yourself, Red," put in one of the easy-looking
chaps. "Nothin' doin'. Rolling Boer, hey? Not with Fenian bonds, good
when Ireland's free. Rolling Boer, you say, Red? When did they get that
one out o' the cavalry? Rolling Boer, 'll still be jogging down the
stretch when you're in bed, Reddy. Say, it's a wonder you don't dig up a
live one 'casionally. Stop trekkin. Winter'll be coming on soon, and
you'll be nix the price of a doss. Rolling Boer! To the woods!"
The red-haired tout mopped his face with a frayed blue polka-dotted
handkerchief.
"Sey, what's half a ten spot to you people?" he said in a tone of
entreaty. "The one you're waitin' f'r'll be 'bout 1 to 4 on, an' this is
sunshine money, at 100 to 1. You people know how they stan' them 1 to 4
things on their heads out in Latonia. Say, take me spiel on this, won't
you, f'r a fi'muth? Look where he got off th' last time out, an' where
he finished! If you can't see him t' win, take th' 20 to 1 third. It'll
be a shame t' spen' t' money--but take it won't you?"
The two complaisant-looking chaps turned away from the red-haired tout
and began a conversation between themselves. The tout looked very warm,
and an expression of despair crossed his weazened features. He mopped
his face again with his blue polka-dotted handkerchief and slunk away.
He sided up to one of the board-markers and said, out of the corner of
his mouth:
"Say, get an ace down on Rolling Boer f'r me, will you? It's a skinch."
The board-marker grinned.
"I'm all out, Red," he replied. "Pushed me last ace up on the last
whizz, an' didn't get a whistle f'r it."
"This super's good f'r a deuce in any hock shop--I've had it in f'r
three," went on the red-haired tout, appealingly, pulling out an old
silver time-piece and trying to pass it to the board-marker. "Lemme have
a buck on it, an' I'll pass you back five f'r it after th' ring's around
Rolling Boer. How's that?"
"I'm all t' th' gruel, didn't I tell you?" replied the man with the
chalk, with some asperity. "I got a ticker o' me own. You're puffin'
secon's, Red. Rolling Boer couldn't beat me little sister skippin'
rope."
The red-haired tout walked away with an expression of deep misery on his
face.
"They think they are wise t' th' ponies, hey?" he muttered. "It's bean
bag they ought t' be playin'!"
He dug a quarter, two dimes and a nickel out of his change pocket and
looked at the coins dismally.
"It's me feed coin," he mumbled, "but maybe I can get some piker t' go
along with f'r another four bits."
He walked over to a shabby-looking chap who was slouching around with
his hands in his pockets.
"Say, you got a bundle on you?" the red-haired tout inquired of the
shabby-looking man.
The shabby-looking man dug a fifty-cent piece out of his left-hand
waistcoat pocket.
"That's all I was huntin' f'r," said the tout, displaying his coins.
"Let's put th' two pieces t'gether an' nail 'em f'r $50 each."
"On what?" inquired the shabby-looking man without any apparent interest
whatsoever.
"On a pipe," said the red-haired tout. "Rolling Boer. He'll make 'em
dizzy and stroll in with his head a-swingin' an' his tail a-swishin'. Do
you come in with me f'r the half?"
The shabby-looking man put his fifty-cent piece back in his left-hand
waistcoat pocket.
"You'll be fallin' out o' bed in a minute, Red," said the shabby-looking
man. "Not for me. I need the beers--ten of 'em."
"Yes, you're a sport right, I think nix," said the red-haired tout,
walking gloomily away. "You're a dead game, with the copper on."
His eagle eye caught sight of a fat man with some three parts of a jag
sitting at the "dope" table, alternately puffing at a ravelled cigar and
nodding sleepily. This jagged man had on one side of his head a straw
hat that looked as if it had been rained on and then sat on. The
red-haired tout went over to him.
"Say, your lid's on the pork all right, ain't it?" he said amiably to
the jagged man. "Been scrappin' with a cable-car?"
"Fade away--fade away," said the jagged man, sleepily. "Do a
disappearing stunt."
"I'll tell you what I'll do with you," said the red-haired tout, edging
over confidentially to the jagged man. "I'll pass you this cage o'
mine--on'y bought it three days ago, and coughed a two-spot f'r it--f'r
that one o' yours an' half a buck t' boot," and the red-haired tout
removed the pretty fair-looking straw hat he was wearing and pushed it
over to the jagged man. The jagged man took his ravelled cigar from his
mouth and grinned broadly.
"Say," he said to the red-haired tout, "you gimme th'
tizzy-wizzy--hones' yo do. Me wear a No. 2 lid? Say, do your fadin'
stunt--fade away."
The tout picked up his hat, put it on, and walked away.
"Now they've hammered Rolling Boer down to 80 to 1, hey?" he said,
looking up at the second line of betting. "B'jee, I'd climb a porch t'
yank out a couple t' put on that one."
He was disconsolately biting his nails and looking around to see if
there was any way out for him before the bunch of two-year-olds at
Gravesend went to the post.
"They're at the pump at Gravesend!" announced the board-marker.
Just as the announcement was made, a little man with a straw-colored
mustache and a red, white and blue band around his straw hat mounted the
stairs, passed the spotter sitting at the door with a nod, lit a fresh
cigarette, and walked up behind the red-haired tout.
"Thay, Red," he said, "what'th good in thith?"
The red-haired tout wheeled like a man who's been touched on the
shoulder by a deputy sheriff.
"You haven't got a minute!" he said, rapidly, to the little man with the
straw-colored mustache. "It's th' baby o' th' year! Gimme three
aces--two f'r you, an' one f'r me, an' in four minutes from date you'll
be lookin' over th' sides of a balloon, chucking off ballast made out o'
money."
The lisping little man with the straw-colored mustache smiled
indulgently and pulled out a roll, from which he stripped a five-dollar
note.
"That'th the thmalletht I've got, Red," he said, handing over the note
to the tout. "Thay"----
He chopped off the question, however, for the tout made two bounds for
the money-taker's window.
"Three on Rolling Boer, T. L. M.!" he shouted, giving the initials of
the little man with the straw-colored mustache. "Th' other two on th'
same, just plain R-e-d, Red, and both bets straight."
The man behind the desk grinned.
"High-ball mazuma for the house, Red," he said, twisting his mustache.
"That one ain't got a look-in."
The tout was back at the side of the little man with the straw-colored
mustache who believed in him just as the operator sung out: "Off at
Gravesend!"
"Thay, Red," said the tout's little man, "which one of 'em did you put
thothe five"----
"Rolling Boer at the quarter by a head!" sang out the operator.
"On that one!" said the red-haired tout, giving his thigh a whack with
his bundle of "dope" books. "It's a pleasant outing for that one!
He'll"----
"Rolling Boer in the stretch by a nose!" called out the operator.
"Thay, he'll curl up, won't he, Red?" said the little man at the tout's
side, nervously. "Did you play him straight or one, two, three"----
"Rolling Boer wins by a nose!" shouted the operator.
It was a bit too much for the red-haired tout. He didn't have any words
handy. So he slammed his "dope" books down on a chair, pitched forward,
turned a cart wheel, and then walked around the room on his hands with
his coat hanging over his head, and a grin of indescribable happiness
all over his freckled features. The little man with the straw-colored
mustache who had believed in Red followed the tout about the room.
"Thay, what do we win, Red?" he asked. "What prithe wath that horth?"
"You yank out $240, an' mine's $160," said the red-haired tout, getting
on his feet again.
"Thay, Red, you're all right," said the red-haired tout's benefactor,
pumping him by both hands.
The two flashy-looking chaps who had first been tackled by the tout on
the Rolling Boer proposition now walked up behind him with long faces.
"Say, Red, why didn't you pitch that at us a little stronger, hey?"
"Get t'ell away from me, you pikers!" was the red-haired tout's reply.