“How much have you ventured, Tom?” he asked.
“Thirty dollars,” boldly retorted Tom.
“Only thirty? Dear me! I was looking for a hundred or so from you. Why, fifteen dollars doesn’t begin to make a hole in my pile. Here it is, and just gaze on this package I have remaining. Now, my sporty young gentlemen, if there are others among you who wish to help along the good cause by similar bets, I will be delighted to take everything offered as long as my money lasts. Smoke up, youngsters—smoke up!”
He stood laughing at them in a manner that was most provoking.
“Is it possible?” he exclaimed. “Can it be that the betting is all over and I am to win only a measly thirty plunks! It is a shame! I had fancied you fellows had more nerve. Can’t you scrape up a few coppers among you?”
Thus challenged, the boys felt their pride assailed, and straightway they began forming a pool. By doing this they raised nearly fifty dollars, which was placed in the hands of the stakeholder, and Wiley put up an amount equal to half of it.
“This is assuredly a snap!” he declared. “To-morrow I will celebrate on my winnings. I will open a bottle of sarsaparilla and buy a pint of peanuts.”
“You must be a dead-game sport!” sneered one of the boys. “Where do you hail from?”
“I hailed, rained, or snowed from any old place. Of late I have been out into the wild and untrammeled West, hobnobbing with cowboys, redskins, and rattlesnakes. Indeed, I acquired a habit of sleeping with two or three rattlesnakes in my bed every night. That’s a handy habit to have, for it gives a chap an excuse to absorb whisky. It was a dull and uneventful day that passed without my being bitten two or three times by a rattlesnake. I am a temperance man by principle and it became extremely worrisome to me to be compelled to thus often fill my system with alcohol. I was troubled with the fear that I might acquire the habit, and outside a rattlesnake country no person has ever seen me under the influence of liquor. Down in dear old Camden, Maine, I am worthy chief of the Good Templars.”
By this time every one in the car seemed interested in Wiley, and soon he was relating some of his marvelous yarns, to which they listened with amusement and wonder. He kept this up until the train whistled for Fardale.