“Not yet,” denied Mr. Fox, and stepping forward he put his arm around the horse’s neck and tried to force the banana into its mouth.
This time the horse was so vigorous in its objection that the man came near being trampled underfoot, and it was only on the unanimous vote of the big man and the two in khaki that he profanely gave up the attempt.
“Not that I mind losing the bet,” announced Mr. Fox in apology, “but I’m disappointed in the be damned horse. That horse loves bananas and I know it, but he’s just stubborn. Here’s your money,” and he gave the driver his five-fifty; “and here’s the rest of the bananas. When you get back to the barn you try that horse and see if he won’t eat ’em, after he’s cooled down and in his stall.”
“All right,” laughed the driver, and started away.
As he turned the corner he was peeling one of the bananas. The loser looked after the horse reluctantly, and sighed in finality.
“Come on, young man, let’s go get that drink,” he said.
Delighted to have found company of happy spirit, Wallingford promptly turned with the colonel into the hotel bar.
“Can you beat it?” asked one big soldier of the other as both looked after the departing couple in pleased wonder.
At about the same second the new combination was falling eagerly and vigorously into conversation upon twelve topics at once.
“You can’t do anything without you have a pull,” was Silas Fox’s fallacious theory of life, as summed up in the intimate friendship of the second bottle. “That’s why I left New Jersey. I had a National Building and Loan Association organized down there that would have been a public benefactor and a private joy; in business less than six months, and already nine hundred honest working-men paying in their dollar and a quarter a week; eleven hundred and fifty a week for us to handle, and the amount growing every month.”