Lighter Than You Think

Laurel. In caseyou're an inland aborigine, let me explain that Laurel race track (fromthe township of the same name) is where horse fanciers from the Districtof Columbia go to abandon their Capitol and capital on weekends.

  We were briefing our jockey--a scrawny youth with a pair of oversizedears--on the use of Pat's lightening rod. Being short on gray matter aswell as on stature, he wasn't getting it at all.

  "You mean," he said for the third or thirty-third time, "you don't wantI should _hit_ the nag with this bat?"

  "Heavens, no!" gasped Pat, blanching. "It's much too delicate for that."

  "Don't fool yourself, mister. Horses can stand a lot of leather."

  "Not the horse, stupid," I said. "The bat. This is the only riding cropof its kind in the world. We don't want it damaged. All you have to dois _carry_ it. We'll do the rest."

  "How about setting the dial, Don?" asked Joyce.

  "Pat will do that just before the horses move onto the track. Now let'sget going. It's weigh-in time."

  We moved to the scales with our rider. He stepped aboard the platform,complete with silks and saddle, and the spinner leaped to a staggering102, whereupon the officials started gravely handing him little leathersacks.

  "What's this?" I whispered to Sandy. "Prizes for malnutrition? He musthave won all the blackjacks east of the Mississippi."

  "The handicap," she whispered back. "Lead weights at one pound each."

  "If he starts to lose," I ruminated, "they'd make wonderfulammunition--"

  "One hundred and twenty-four," announced the chief weigher-inner. "Nextentry!"

  We returned to Tapwater. The jockey fastened the weights to his gear,saddled up and mounted. From the track came the traditional bugle call.Sandy nodded to Pat.

  "All right, Pat. Now!"

  Pending twisted the knob on his lightening rod and handed the stick tothe jockey. The little horseman gasped, rose three inches in hisstirrups, and almost let go of the baton.

  "H-hey!" he exclaimed. "I feel funny. I feel--"

  "Never mind that," I told him. "Just you hold on to that rod until therace is over. And when you come back, give it to Pat immediately.Understand?"

  "Yes. But I feel so--so lightheaded--"

  "That's because you're featherbrained," I advised him. "Now, get going.Giddyap, Dobbin!"

  I patted Tapwater's flank, and so help me Newton, I think that onegentle tap pushed the colt half way to the starting gate! He patteredacross the turf with a curious bouncing gait as if he were running ontiptoe. We hastened to our seats in the grandstand.

  "Did you get all the bets down?" asked Joyce.

  I nodded and displayed a deck of ducats. "It may not have occurred toyou, my sweet," I announced gleefully, "but these pasteboards aretransferrable on demand to rice and old shoes, the sweet strains of _Oh,Promise Me!_ and the scent of orange blossoms. You insisted I shouldhave a nest egg before you would murmur, 'I do'? Well, after this racethese tickets will be worth--" I cast a swift last glance at the toteboard's closing odds, quoting Tapwater at 35 to 1--"approximatelyseventy thousand dollars!"

  "Donald!" gasped Joyce. "You didn't bet all your savings?"

  "Every cent," I told her cheerfully. "Why not?"

  "But if something should go wrong! If Tapwater should lose!"

  "He won't. See what I mean?"

  For even as we were talking, the bell jangled, the crowd roared, and thehorses were off. Eight entries surged from the starting gate. Andalready one full length out in front pranced the weight-free, lightfootTapwater!

  At the quarter post our colt had stretched his lead to three lengths,and I shouted in Pending's ear, "How much does that jockey weigh,anyway?"

  "About six pounds," said Pat. "I turned the knob to cancel oneeighteen."

  At the half, all the other horses could glimpse of Tapwater was heels.At the three-quarter post he was so far ahead that the jockey must havebeen lonely. As he rounded into the stretch I caught a binocular view ofhis face, and he looked dazed and a little frightened. He wasn'tactually _riding_ Tapwater. The colt was simply skimming home, and hewas holding on for dear life to make sure he didn't blow off the horse'sback. The result was a foregone conclusion, of course. Tapwater crossedthe finish line nine lengths ahead, setting a new track record.

  The crowd went wild. Over the hubbub I clutched Pat's arm and bawled,"I'll go collect our winnings. Hurry down to the track and swap thatlightening rod for the real bat we brought along. He'll have to weighout again, you know. Scoot!"

  The others vanished paddockward as I went for the big payoff. It wasdreary at the totalizer windows. I was one of a scant handful who hadbet on Tapwater, so it took no time at all to scoop into the valise Ihad brought along the seventy thousand bucks in crisp, green lettucewhich an awed teller passed across the counter. Then I hurried back tojoin the others in the winner's circle, where bedlam was not onlyreigning but pouring. Flashbulbs were popping all over the place,cameramen were screaming for just one more of the jockey, the owner, thefabulous Tapwater. The officials were vainly striving to quiet thetumult so they could award the prize. I found Pending worming his wayout of the heart of the crowd.

  "Did you get it?" I demanded.

  He nodded, thrust the knobbed baton into my hand.

  "You substituted the normal one?"

  Again he nodded. Hastily I thrust the lightening rod out of sight intomy valise, and we elbowed forward to share the triumphant moment. It wasa great experience. I felt giddy with joy; I was walking on little pinkclouds of happiness. Security was mine at last. And Joyce, as well.

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" cried the chief official. "Your attention,please! Today we have witnessed a truly spectacular feat: the setting ofa new track record by a champion racing under a tremendous handicap. Igive you a magnificent racehorse--_Tapwater_!"

  "That's right, folks!" I bawled, carried away by the excitement. "Givethis little horse a great big hand!"

  Setting the example, I laid down the bag, started clapping vigorously.From a distance I heard Pat Pending's agonized scream.

  "Mr. Mallory--the suitcase! Grab it!"

  I glanced down, belatedly aware of the danger of theft. But too late.The bag had disappeared.

  "Hey!" I yelled. "Who swiped my bag? Police!"

  "Up there, Mr. Mallory!" bawled Pat. "Jump!"

  I glanced skyward. Three feet above my head and rising swiftly was thevalise in which I had cached not only our winnings but Pat'sgravity-defying rod! I leaped--but in vain. I was _still_ making feeble,futile efforts to make like the moon-hurdling nursery rhyme cow whenquite a while later two strong young men in white jackets came andjabbed me with a sedative ...

  * * * * *

  Later, when time and barbiturates had dulled the biting edge of mydespair, we assembled once again in my office and I made my apologies tomy friends.

  "It was all my fault," I acknowledged. "I should have realized Pathadn't readjusted the rod when I placed it in my bag. It felt lighter.But I was so excited--"

  "It was _my_ fault," mourned Pat, "for not changing it immediately. ButI was afraid someone might see me."

  "Perhaps if we hired an airplane--?" I suggested.

  Pat shook his head.

  "No, Mr. Mallory. The rod was set to cancel 118 pounds. The bag weighedless than twenty. It will go miles beyond the reach of any airplanebefore it settles into an orbit around earth."

  "Well, there goes my dreamed-of fortune," I said sadly. "Accompanied bythe fading strains of an unplayed wedding march. I'm sorry, Joyce."

  "Isn't there one thing you folks are overlooking?" asked Sandy Thomas."My goodness, you'd think we had lost our last cent just because thatlittle old bag flew away!"

  "For your information," I told her, "that is precisely what happened tome. My entire bank account vanished into the wild blue yonder. And someof Pat's money, too."

  "But have you forgotten," she insisted, "that we _won_ the race? Ofcourse the track officials were a wee bit suspicious when you
r suitcasetook off. But they couldn't prove anything. So they paid me the GoldStakes prize. If we split it four ways, we all make a nice littleprofit.

  "Or," she added, "if you and Joyce want to make yours a double share, wecould split it three ways.

  "Or," she continued hopefully, "if Pat wants to, we could make _two_double shares, and split it fifty-fifty?"

  From the look in Pat's eyes I knew he was stunned by this