Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-08-08

E-z@=zz;zEsE90 shirts on, will yer?
You'll get your coin all right all lish.'
You Willie boys win six dollars an thlii>
you've got Pittsburg Phil lookin IKE
shine. an If yer lose yer set up a roar
that'd make Niagara Falls sound ike
whisper Back up there!
DANGEROUSLY, insistently the crowd beat
against him. He was standing pack ol
the Exeter Club book at Montauk track
money-bag bullying with bills. paying INC
winners The last race OF the da! hao
been run: five favorite had VOL. Every
bookmaker down the line had peen haro
hit-it was the public's day and the pup
lie. having had its day. was anxious u
get home The pay-line was stunning JOS
Ting, pushing: disputing for preceoehce'
excitedly recOunting the last race SUI
perlatively congratulating itself on It's
own wisdom. "Batty' stood peenhg OIL
bank note after bank note, checking, pay
ing and-swearing. Suddenly the man, up
to get his winnings, was showed violently
against him.
"Now. see here, Beau" said "Batty,
quite without passion, IF yer don't back
up there I'll have to hand yer one In the
necktie.
For three or four minutes he continued
paying then he Strengthened up.
Il never see so many people win on a
race" he announced to the world at
large "S'help me. that line goes all the
way to Philadelphia This Gag IL look
like hole in a pretzel when finish. On
me gran mother! Back up there" he sud
denly bawled. This amt no pink tea.
nor remnant sale. nor nothin
''Oh, hurry up paying and quit talking,
came a blase voice from somewhere in
the line
DO yer think we're draggin' out this
function for the IN of it?" demanded
''Batty," sarcastically;, "Where'd you
been II yer'd lost. Well, say! Yer look
like a feather buster out in the rain-you
over the crossties for home with yer head
under yer wishbone. JUS bring yer Wad
back tomorrow when we have a real race
an then watch us. Oh me. oh my, oh
mamma
Frank Carter, the plunger, owner Of the
Exeter Club book. standing beside Bat
ty" smiled family.
Maybe couple o. hundred shy" said
"Batty," and he looked ruefully at the
decreasing bundle Of greenbacks AN
gee! Jus minute ago that roll was so
big horse couldn't jump over 1t. Never
mind. BILL he continued consolingly- to
the plunger, ''tomorrow's Handicap day
an wen have to take the loose pickin's
home in a whizz-wagon Everybody
Handicap days-until it's over"
Gradually the pay line faded away,
each man making sprint for the train
as soon as he got his winnings. At last.
in my turn. I came face to face with
why. hello. Beau" and he grinned
cheerfully. Jus pickin up some coffee
an sinkers, eh?':
'.Just little bit-couple Of hundred"
I said.
Stand over there till finish" he said.
without offering to pay me. "Lemme get
rid O. this cluster o. two-dollar Riley
Grannans an I'll talk to YER He
That was my introduction to Frank
Carter, the noted plunger. a nerveless.
emotionless individual, who bet thousands
where I bet dimes, winning or losing
without enthusiasm or disappointment; a
man whose turf winnings on single day
had run to nearly 100000; whose trivial
opinion had eliminated form. crushed the
books beneath flood of clinking gold,
thrown the big betting ring into a fren-
zied panic-a screaming. squirming. mad
eyed panic-and had left II gasping.
nerveless-and moneyless. He bet tens
Of thousands with the nod of his head.
the solid men of the racing game His
mere word. without the scratch OF pen.
was good for $1,000. or $2OO.OOO Once
he had been a printers devil"
Slight. colorless, palld even. he rarely
smiled and never showed anger; never
gave an opinion, never asked one; never
made an intimate. He was unostenta-
tious TO a degree; had won vast fortunes
without any apparent use Iof tnen
lived quietly. modestly, even frugally.
He liked "Batty' Logan. one time jockey.
tout. piker. and had made him the book
treasurer. The buoyancy of 'Batty's'
irrepressible youth appealed to him. but
he rarely had anything to say to him.
Sometimes they had bite of supper to-
gether-the plunger never drank.
Popularity Carter was supposed to be
worth many hundreds of thousands of
dollars when he became layer of odds
The fortunes of the great plungars are
always exaggerated: still, since his book,
the Exeter Club, had been in the ring, no