head cracked there would be no one to care very much.  Jurgis, who by this time would cheerfully have cracked the heads of all the gamblers in Chicago, inquired what would be coming to him; at which the Jew became still more confidential, and said that he had some tips on the New Orleans races, which he got direct from the police captain of the district, whom he had got out of a bad scrape, and who “stood in” with a big syndicate of horse owners.  Duane took all this in at once, but Jurgis had to have the whole race-track situation explained to him before he realized the importance of such an opportunity.

There was the gigantic Racing Trust.  It owned the legislatures in every state in which it did business; it even owned some of the big newspapers, and made public opinion—­there was no power in the land that could oppose it unless, perhaps, it were the Poolroom Trust.  It built magnificent racing parks all over the country, and by means of enormous purses it lured the people to come, and then it organized a gigantic shell game, whereby it plundered them of hundreds of millions of dollars every year.  Horse racing had once been a sport, but nowadays it was a business; a horse could be “doped” and doctored, undertrained or overtrained; it could be made to fall at any moment—­or its gait could be broken by lashing it with the whip, which all the spectators would take to be a desperate effort to keep it in the lead.  There were scores of such tricks; and sometimes it was the owners who played them and made fortunes, sometimes it was the jockeys and trainers, sometimes it was outsiders, who bribed them—­but most of the time it was the chiefs of the trust.  Now for instance, they were having winter racing in New Orleans and a syndicate was laying out each day’s program in advance, and its agents in all the Northern cities were “milking” the poolrooms.  The word came by long-distance telephone in a cipher code, just a little while before each race; and any man who could get the secret had as good as a fortune.  If Jurgis did not believe it, he could try it, said the little Jew—­let them meet at a certain house on the morrow and make a test.  Jurgis was willing, and so was Duane, and so they went to one of the high-class poolrooms where brokers and merchants gambled (with society women in a private room), and they put up ten dollars each upon a horse called “Black Beldame,” a six to one shot, and won.  For a secret like that they would have done a good many sluggings—­but the next day Goldberger informed them that the offending gambler had got wind of what was coming to him, and had skipped the town.