“Well, do you imagine the doctor has?”
“Mexico” paused, then said thoughtfully, “Blanked if I can git on to his game!”
“Oh, come, 'Mexico,' you can't get on to him? He's working you. You don't really think he has your interest at heart?”
“Can't quite tell.” “Mexico” wore a vexed and thoughtful air. “Wish I could. If I thought so I'd—”
“What?”
“Tie up to him tight, you bet your eternal life!” There was a sudden gleam from under “Mexico's” heavy brows and a ring in his usually drawling voice, that sufficiently attested his earnestness. “There ain't too many of that kind raound.”
“What do you think of that?” inquired the editor, as “Mexico” sauntered out of the door.
“Think? I think there's a law against gamblers in this province and it ought to be enforced.”
“That means war,” said the editor.
“Well, let it come. That doctor is the whole trouble, I can see. I'd give a thousand dollars down to see him out of the country.”