It was fifteen minutes to six when Shirley reached the hotel. At the Vine Street entrance she hesitated a few moments, for now that the time for action was at hand, she grew nervous. It took her but an instant to shake off this uneasy feeling, however, and she entered the hotel boldly.

She took a seat in a far corner of the lobby, where she could see all who came and went without being too exposed, and then she waited. Six o’clock came, but there was no sign of Jones.

“I reckon he is a little late,” said Shirley to herself.

A quarter after six; half-past six and still no Jones.

Shirley arose to go.

“I guess he didn’t get my letter in time,” she said.

She made her way to the door. But just as she would have passed out a hurrying figure bumped into her. Shirley drew back to let the man pass, and cried out suddenly:

“Mr. Jones.”

Jones, for it was indeed he, drew back sharply, and looked closely at Shirley. Then he smiled slightly.

“Smith?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Shirley briefly.

“Good. Come with me.”

Shirley followed the man back into the hotel. At the far side of the lobby was a door leading to the dining-room. Jones led the way inside, Shirley following close at his heels.

He selected a small table at the far end of the dining-room, and the two sat down.

“We can talk here undisturbed,” said Jones.

Their orders given, Jones leaned back in his chair.

“I wouldn’t have recognized you,” he said, looking at Shirley sharply.

“I was beginning to think you would not come,” said Shirley.

“My train was late,” Jones responded. “I had to hustle to get here as soon as I did.”

He was silent for some moments. Shirley said nothing, waiting for Jones to open the conversation.

“So,” said the man after the food had been set before them, “you have decided to accept my offer, eh?”

Shirley thought it good policy not to appear too anxious.

“It all depends upon what you want me to do,” she replied.

Jones looked at her long and carefully.

“Well,” he said at length, “I’ll tell you. You understand, of course, that it will not be healthy for you to repeat anything I may say?”

Shirley nodded assent.

“And that if you play me false, you will get the worst of it?”

Again Shirley nodded.

“Good. I don’t need to go into details, but what I want is this: I want you to see that Gabriel does not win the Derby. In other words, I want you to ‘pull’ him.”

“Pull him!” echoed Shirley.

This was a language she did not understand.

“Yes. Surely you know what pulling means?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” replied Shirley hesitatingly.

“What kind of a jockey do you call yourself?” sneered Jones. “By pulling I mean holding Gabriel back so that some other horse may finish ahead of him.”

“I see,” said Shirley. “And have you selected the horse that is to win the race?”

“Yes. Jupiter, owned by the bookmakers.”

“And that is all you want me to do?”

“That is all.”

“And you are willing to pay me $500 for that?”

“Yes.”

Shirley was silent, apparently considering. Jones waited perhaps five minutes for her to speak, and then said:

“Well, what do you say?”

Shirley rose from her chair.

“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “When do I get the money?”

“After the Derby.”

“Very well,” said Shirley, “you may count upon me to do my best.”

“That’s all, then,” said Jones, also rising. “I will make it a point to see you just before the race starts.”

He walked to the door with the supposed traitorous jockey. There Shirley stopped for another word.

“One thing,” she said. “Send me no messages and do not come to see me. It would be too risky.”

“Right you are,” said Jones. “Good-bye.”

He turned on his heel and left without another word. Shirley also made her way from the hotel. Her eyes fell upon a clock in a window.

“Eight o’clock,” she said. “I can’t go to Clara’s yet. They will all see me. What shall I do to pass the time?”

She debated the point at length.

“I’ll stop in this drug store and have an ice cream soda, anyhow,” she finally decided.

This refreshment disposed of, Shirley reached for her purse. For the moment she forgot she was dressed in boys’ clothes, but in an instant she remembered, and thrust her hand in her pocket; and she drew it out with a cry of dismay.

She had forgotten to put her purse in her pocket, and she had no money, and there was the ice cream soda to be paid for.

The man at the cashier’s desk was looking at her suspiciously. Shirley, glancing up, caught the look. Again she made a desperate search of her pockets, but the search was futile. There was no money there.

Shirley turned to the cashier.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but I have misplaced my money. I’ll have to ask you to wait till to-morrow.”

“Misplaced your money, eh,” sneered the man, looking at Shirley’s shabby attire. “I suppose, when you came in here, you were sure you had money, were you?”

“Of course I was,” said Shirley indignantly.

“Well, I’m not so sure. I’ve seen your kind before. I guess I had better call an officer.”

Shirley became greatly frightened.

“Please don’t do that,” she said, in great alarm. “I’ll pay you to-morrow sure. Honestly I will.”

“That’s an old one,” said the cashier. “Either you will dig up ten cents right now or I shall call a policeman.”

“But I haven’t ten cents,” said Shirley tearfully.

“Then I shall call the officer,” said the cashier, and reached for the desk telephone.

Shirley, badly frightened, did not know what to do. She did not know that the cashier, thinking she was trying to defraud him, would not have called the police, but was simply trying to frighten her into paying.

But help came from an unexpected source.

A young man who had been an interested listener to this conversation suddenly stepped forward, and laid a dime on the counter.

“There is your ten cents,” he said quietly to the cashier. “Let the boy alone. Can’t you see he is honest?”

“About as honest as the rest of ’em,” sneered the cashier, picking up the dime.

Shirley turned to her benefactor.

“Thank you, sir,” she said earnestly. “I’ll see that you get it back.”

“Oh, all right,” said the young man with a laugh, “but I guess it won’t break me if I don’t.”

It was plain to Shirley that he never expected to have it returned, and upon that instant she decided that he should.

“If you will give me your card,” she said, “I shall see that you get it back to-morrow.”

The young man smiled at her.

“Well, if you insist,” he said, with a smile, and extracted a card from his pocket, and handed it to Shirley.

Shirley stuffed it into her pocket.

“Thank you very much,” she said quietly. “Good-bye.”

She left the store and walked down the street. It was now half-past eight, as Shirley saw by the street clock.

“I guess I might as well go home and risk being seen,” she told herself.

She stopped at the next corner and hailed an approaching car. She was just about to step aboard, when she suddenly remembered she did not have carfare. She stepped back abruptly. The conductor rang the bell angrily, and the car went on.

“My gracious,” said Shirley to herself, “it’s a long way to Walnut Hills but I guess I shall have to walk it. I wonder if I can find the way?”

She stood still for several minutes.

“Well,” she said at last, “I might as well start. There is no use standing here. I’ll just have to follow the car line, and ask if I lose my way.”

First she made her way to Fourth and Walnut Streets, and then she started off in the direction taken by a Walnut Hills car.

She was forced to ask directions several times before she got very far, but nevertheless she made fair progress. She was just congratulating herself upon her good fortune in getting out of so serious a predicament so easily, when something else happened.

Around the corner, suddenly, came a crowd of boys, their ages ranging from twelve to fifteen. This part of the city was by no means the best, and Shirley thanked her stars that she was attired in boy’s clothes.

But her attire was not to stand her in good stead now.

The crowd of boys came on at a run, and when directly in front of Shirley the leaders stopped.

“Look here, fellows,” said one of them. “Here is a poor kid all by himself. He looks big enough to fight. Shall we take him along?”

“Sure,” came from the rest.

The boy who had first spoken grabbed Shirley by the arm, and shook him.

“Can you fight?” he asked.

Shirley again was almost in tears.

“No,” she quavered.

“Well,” came the reply, “you’ll have to fight. We are going after the Eighteenth Street gang and we need reinforcements. You will help. But if you don’t fight, well, you’ll get the worst of it anyhow. Come on.”

Shirley hung back, but it was no use. A boy grabbed her by either arm, and she found herself being hurried along.

“We’ll fix ’em this time,” was the cry of the boys.