About two o’clock in the afternoon of the same day the sheriff was somewhat surprised at seeing a dudish-looking fellow walking into his private office unannounced.
He glanced up impatiently from his writing, but immediately resumed his work.
“Transact your business in the outer office, please,” he said.
“Aw,” said the dude, gazing stupidly through his one eye-glass, “are you the person in powah?”
“Transact your business in the outer office,” repeated the sheriff, peremptorily.
“Cawn’t do it, me deah boy.[{45}]”
The sheriff threw himself angrily around in his revolving chair and faced the intruder.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
The dude closed the office door carefully and threw himself into a chair in front of the irate official.
“I have an idea,” he said, in his natural tone of voice, “that there may be a racket at the racing stables to-night, and I want an understanding with your men.”