“You’re a sport—and I know it. Come along,” he called.
Along the street came loafing the individual who had tried to sell me “Bright Eyes” stock, and he heard that call.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, pard,” he advised the driver. “He’s no sport. I have tried him out. He won’t take a chance. I gave him a chance on some mining shares.”
“What shares?” asked the stage-driver.
“‘Bright Eyes’ in the Blacksnake.”
My friend was truly a good actor. He showed no interest.
“Shift the name to ‘blacked eyes.’ Yes, and both of ’em closed at that. No good!”
“I tell you there’s something in the air,” insisted the other. “It’s a fair gamble at twenty-five cents a share.” He pulled out some papers and walked up to me.
“You look like ready money, my friend. I’d rather play the wheel just now than be rich. I’m tied in here by the mud and it’s getting on to my nerves. Take ten thousand at twenty-five cents. I’ll close out to you.”
“Hold on!” sang out the driver, and he managed to smuggle a wink to me while he was tugging papers out of his pocket on his way back to join us. “If you’re in the market for ‘Bright Eyes,’ Eastern fellow, here’s ten thousand shares for fifteen cents a share.”.