“Her and me,” whimpered Lusk. “Sidney.” He sat up with a limp, confiding stare at everybody.
“Sidney who?” said Lin.
“No, no,” corrected Lusk, crossly—“Sidney, Nebraska.”
The stakes at this point fell from his pocket which he did not notice. But the bride had them in safe-keeping at once.
“Who are yu', anyway—when yu' ain't drunk?” demanded Lin.
“He's as good a man as you, and better,” snorted the guardian angel. “Give him a pistol, and he'll make you hard to find.”
“Well, you listen to me, Sidney Nebraska—” Lin began.
“No, no,” corrected Lusk once more, as a distant whistle blew—“Jim.”
“Good-bye, gentlemen,” said the rain-maker. “That's the west-bound. I'm perfectly satisfied with my experiment here, and I'm off to repeat it at Salt Lake City.”
“You are?” shouted Lin McLean. “Him and Jim's going to work it again! For goodness' sake, somebody lend me twenty-five dollars!”