While they were strolling over, Phil gave them all the other news that he had received from Doctor Denby. All the home folks were well, and Dick’s father had so far recovered from the bullet wound as to have resumed his duties in the bank. The detectives who had been employed to catch the hold-up gang had been foiled at every turn, and now it seemed unlikely that the robbers would be captured and the money recovered. The Radio Boys, however, still believed that the man with the scar, whom Steve had noticed during the brush with the desperados, would prove to be the notorious Murray. If that were the case, and he were still in the Rangers’ territory, the boys still had hopes of coming across him.
When the boys entered the bunkhouse, they were greeted heartily by all the Rangers who happened to be in the building.
“Here’s somebody that’s going to tell us some swell jokes, fellows,” said Steve. “Light up your pipes and listen. He’s got a large variety, and they’re all good.”
Shouts of approbation greeted this announcement, and for once in his life Tom found what he had longed for so often—an appreciative audience. Without having to be coaxed too much, he told about all the jokes he could think of, and they were all rewarded with laughter and applause.
When he had at last reached the end of his stock of humorous anecdotes he was voted the best story teller in camp.
“I’d ruther listen to them funny stories of yourn than any of those vaudeville sharps I’ve heard in town,” remarked Dan. “Most o’ them are about as funny as a funeral bell.”
“Well, I’m glad you liked my jokes,” said Tom, with a meaning glance at Dick and Phil. “Some people are so pig-headed that they won’t admit a story is funny just on principle.”
“I guess you haven’t been to many shows, have you, Dan?” asked Phil.
“Huh!” snorted the old plainsman. “They’re all fakes, anyhow. I rec’lect one I went to, where the feller was supposed to shoot at the keys of a piano and play a tune on it. Waal, it seems this feller had a partner, and he’d stay behind the scenes and play each note hisself, while the feller out in front with the gun was only firin’ off blanks. This yere plan worked perfect for a while, but then these short horns had some kind of a fallin’ out, and the feller that hit the notes on the piano decides to double-cross his pal. Which this happens the same night I sees this show in Tucson.
“Waal, at first everything goes off accordin’ to Hoyle, and the sharp with the gun plays the tune on the piano as usual. But when he stops shootin’, the piano kep’ on playin’ jest the same. It was real funny at first, but after a while some of the boys gets kind of peevish at the way they’ve been took in right along.”