Here, my good
fellow," he added, and handed the policeman a ten-dollar bill.
"You're not a Mexican. You're an American," the book-maker Joe cried
accusingly, "although you bragged like a Mexican."
"Quite right. I never claimed to be a Mexican, however. I heard about
this Thanksgiving Handicap, and it seemed such a splendid opportunity
to pick up a few thousand dollars that I entered my horse. I have
complied with all the rules. This race was open to four-year-olds and
up, regardless of whether they had been entered in a race previously or
had won or lost a race. Panchito's registration will bear
investigation; so will his history. My jockey rode under an apprentice
license. May I trouble you for a settlement, gentlemen?"
"But your horse is registered under a Mexican's name, as owner."
"My name is Miguel Jose Maria Federico Noriaga Farrel."
"We'll see the judges first, Senor Farrel."
"By all means."
"You bet we will. The judges smell a rat, already. The winning
numbers haven't been posted yet."
As Don Mike and his retinue passed the Parker box, John Parker and
Danny Leighton fell in behind them and followed to the judges' stand.
Five minutes later the anxious crowd saw Panchito's number go up as the
winner. Don Mike's frank explanation that he had deceived nobody, but
had, by refraining from doing things in the usual manner, induced the
public to deceive itself and refrain from betting on Panchito, could
not be gainsaid--particularly when an inspection of the records at the
betting ring proved that not a dollar had been wagered on Panchito.
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