Shorty read over laboriously:
"Deer Bat: Send me 50 please. I set behind two small pair
last night, while the other feller had a full, & Ime strapt
this morning. Yores,
"Billings."
"That seems convincing," said Shorty.
"Then look at this," said the gambler, producing another paper. It read:
"Deer Bat: Got yore $100 all right, but doant send by that
man again. He's shaky, and talks too much. Bring it
yourself, or put it in an envelope directed to me, & drop it
in my box. Yores,
"Billings."
"That's enough," said Shorty, with his mind in a tumult, as to how he was to get these papers into his possession. "I'll go in with you, if you'll take me. Here's my fist."
He reached out and shook hands with Bat Meacham over the bargain, and called to the waiter, "Here, fill 'em up agin."
Shorty pulled some papers out of his pocket to search for his money, and fumbled them over. There were two pieces among them resembling the scraps on which Billings had written his notes. They contained some army doggerel which the poet of Co. Q had written and Shorty was carrying about as literary treasures.
The waiter wiped off the table as he replaced the glasses, and Shorty lifted up the gambler's papers to permit him to do so. He laid down his own papers instead, and with them a $10 bill.
"There," he said; "I find that's all the money I have with me, but it's enough to bind the bargain. I left a couple hundred with the clerk at the tavern. I'll go right up and git it, and we'll settle the thing right here."