Even then Gallup did not believe Silence in earnest. He took it as a bluff and continued to "make a front."
"Put it up, put it up," he nodded. "I'm right here. I'm waiting to see that money stuck up."
Mike McCann hurried into the office and returned directly, followed by Fred Priley, the hotel proprietor.
"Mr. Priley," said Silence, "this young man has been making some betting talk. You know we're going to play Frank Merriwell's team to-morrow at Bloomfield. It's doubtful if the gate money will cover our expenses. For that reason I've been looking around to make a little wager on that game. This chap says he'll bet anything from one hundred dollars to ten thousand dollars. Let me see if I can dig up ten thousand."
With perfect coolness, he opened a pocketbook and counted out ten one-thousand dollars, which he handed to Priley.
"That leaves me a hundred or two," he said, "which will carry me over until I get my roll back and this gentleman's long green with it."
With a sneering smile, he turned and regarded Gallup.
"I've put my money up," he said. "Now let's see you do the same thing—or squeal."
Gallup swallowed down a lump which had risen in his throat.
"Derned if I ever squealed in my life!" he snarled. "I've gut ten thousand right in the Wellsburg Bank, and I'll draw a check on it jest as soon as I kin make it aout!"