Chapin wheeled. "Does it seem to you quite the thing to bet against our man, Fresno?" he inquired, his glance full in the other's eyes.
"Why not? There's no sentiment in financial affairs."
Speed shrugged. "Our tenor friend will sing his way back to
California." He turned with his thanks to Helen.
"The talkin'—machine!" interrupted Still Bill, suddenly. A group of men was approaching, who bore the phonogragh upon a dry-goods box, and deposited it in state beside the race-course. "Say, Gabby, s'pose you give us a tune, just to show she's in good order."
"Suspicious, eh?"
"You bet! There's a monologue I'd admire to hear. It's called-"
"We'll have The Holy City," said Willie, positively. "It's more appropriate."
So, with clumsy fingers, Gallagher fitted a record, then wound up the machine under the jealous eyes of the Flying Heart cowboys.
Drawn by the sound, Skinner, wrapped to the chin in his blanket, idled toward the crowd, affording Glass a sight of his face for the first time. The latter started as if stung, and crying under his breath, "Salted car-horse!" drew his employer aside.
"Say," he said, pointing a finger, "who's that?"