"I heard Bard explaining to one of their friends, that Iowa had so many automobiles; but was away down when it came to population. Wyeth overheard him, and agreed that Iowa did have lots of machines, but that he was wrong in regard to its being away down in population. That, in fact, Iowa had almost as many people as California. The crowd ridiculed such an idea, and cited the big cities of California, as an evidence of the fact. 'There is no call for argument when the same is down in black and white. Look it up in the census,' Wyeth declared. Bard colored, while Randall fished around in his belongings, and found a book containing the last government census report. Now, what do you think of a bunch that are always arguing, and not one of them knew the population of either of those great states. Not a one, and most of them graduated from college. Which showed that they have not studied what is around them, while Wyeth had.
"The report they found, had Iowa's population for fifteen years before. 'Wrong,' said Wyeth calmly. 'Well, here it is in black and white,' they all cried at once. 'But it's wrong, I say,' declared Wyeth. 'You can't convince Tempest on anything,' declared Randall disgustedly. 'You cannot convince me that Iowa has not increased in population in fifteen years. The census you are poring over there, is fifteen years old.' They were taken aback. They looked at the top of the page and saw they were all wrong again. Not a word did they say. No, they wouldn't admit in words to him, that they were wrong when it was before them. Wyeth called the population, and when they looked just to the side, there it was. It was the same with California. And still, not one of that bunch said: 'By jove! He's right.' No, but they all knew then that he had won that bet. And Dr. Bard was sick. Just sick, while Randall was sore with himself.
"Now here is how they hedged and kept from paying it: Wyeth wrote to two of the biggest motor magazines, and to the department of commerce. The department of commerce wrote back that the information he required, could be gotten by consulting the magazine he had written to, and stated what issues gave it. Wyeth brought the issues and the letters. They then claimed that they would accept the information from the secretaries of the states only. He wrote to these people, and, strange to say, they did not answer. And that was how they hedged. There was only one of the bunch that frequents the place regularly, who was man enough to tell them how cheap it was, and that was Dr. Landrum. He purchased Wyeth's book and read it, and told Wyeth that he had done finely for a beginner; Randall has had more criticism to offer upon it than any one else, but would not, of course, honor Wyeth by buying one."
"I guess he more than paid for one, from what I have heard," laughed Jones, and related the incident of the bet, which had become known about town.
"Well," said the detective, "they are giving him the laugh down there now, about how Randall called him on his criticisms."
"I heard about that, too," said Jones. "But you take it from me. That fellow is going to make a fool of those fellows yet. The man has something up his sleeve behind all this criticism he is accused of, and I am looking for him to do something. I don't know what it will be; but I feel in my bones, that it will be something that we will all know about."
"I agree with you," said the detective. "That fellow has no college education like Randall and Bard, and others, that feel they are the only fish in the pond; but he is a walking encyclopedia when it comes to every day facts about our country and the people, and some day we are going to hear from him otherwise than through the pages of his book. He didn't know all about writing when he wrote that; but it's some book at any rate," and with that, he rose and went his way.
Sunday was a beautiful day. The air was calm and soft. A crowd was on hand early at Randall's pharmacy, as was the usual custom on Sunday.
"Well," said Randall cheerfully, "today is fine. Wonder where Tempest is." And he looked about at the others, amusedly. A tittering went the rounds.