“He will,” chuckled Hammerswell.
“How long will it take you to get the powder?”
“There’s plenty of time. I will find a man to purchase it here in Rockford at a drug store. Don’t want to do it myself. Leave it all to me. You shall have it to-night, but you’re not to use it until to-morrow noon. Understand that? If you use it before that time he might recover from the effect in time to play all right. He will feel it for four or five hours after taking the stuff.”
“Then it’s a go,” said Fernald. “I’ll make a big winning on Rockford to-morrow. After that I hope Rockford will get it in the neck regularly. Have another drink with me. Come on!”
They again stood up to the bar and called for drinks.
While they were drinking one of the bartenders noticed the sleeping fellow in the corner. Immediately he came from behind the bar and gave the sleeper a poke in the ribs.
“Here! here! what are you doing?” he demanded. “This is no lodging house.”
Apparently the fellow was undisturbed. A second poke toppled him from his chair to the floor, where he sprawled awkwardly.
“Thunder and guns!” he muttered thickly; “that was an awful shock! Thought I was riding on the truck of a freight car. Lost my hold and fell off. The whole train went over me.”
“This is no place for bums,” said the bartender, surveying the fellow’s ragged clothes. “When did you blow in here?”