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Show 110, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 2] of the game we're playing tonight, if you could do me the favor of, I should like to appeal to your, ah, the precognitive, what people suspect to be your foreknowledge; I'm wondering about this stakes race, and if it would be intelligent to back the big horse--" The boy smiled. "Whaaa--?" Father Kelly snarled in the doorway. "You bet." came the response from the bed, in a high, lucky voice like an elf. "Legion," Dorian Clayton nodded in the direction of the Presbyterian minister. And in the instant the devil did a pretty good Carly Simon: "--Your horse naturally won--" But there was the shadowy and muscular priest, threatening. "In short," Dorian demanded, "wouldn't it be Forego in the Widener Handicap?" On the moment there was the fearsome smell of gasoline, the motor of a small airplane on the boy's dresser came to life, tightly circled the room once and was gone out the window--" He-eey? How did you make it do that?"--"Forego," the fiend looked wildly around the room and continued, "is the foregone conclusion." The purpling priest and the parson rose against the intruder, a wall of sanctimony. |