"Go ahead, Billy," croaked that aged reprobate. "Teach him a lesson. He needs it."
"Never mind the lesson," snapped Cottle. "I got out of school a long time ago. The bet is that I can leave my left arm in the clubhouse safe—stick it in my pocket—and trim you birds with one hand."
"We wouldn't insist on that," said Old Man Sprott. "Play with both hands if you want to."
"Think I'm a welsher?" demanded Cottle. "The original proposition goes. 'Course I wouldn't really cut the arm off and leave it in the safe, but what I mean is, if I use two arms in making a shot, right there is where I lose. Satisfactory?"
"Perkins," said Uncle Billy, solemnly wagging his head, "you are a witness that this thing has been forced on me. I have been bullied and browbeaten and insulted into making this bet——"
"And so have I," chimed in Old Man Sprott. "I'm almost ashamed——"
The Ooley-cow shrugged his shoulders.
"I am a witness," said he quietly. "Calvin, these gentlemen have stated the case correctly. You have forced them to accept your proposition——"
"And he can't blame anybody if he loses," finished Uncle Billy as he reached for the roll of bills.
"You bet!" ejaculated Old Man Sprott. "He was looking for trouble, and now he's found it. Count it, Billy, and we'll each take half."