"Then you won't take no chances?" inquired Willie, mildly.
"You may rely upon me to take care of myself."
"Thank you!" The delegation moved away.
"What d'you think of him?" inquired Stover of the little man in glasses, when they were out of hearing.
"I think he's all right," Willie hesitated, "only kind of crazy, like all Eastern boys. It don't seem credible that no sane man would dast to bluff after what we've said. He'd be flyin' in the face of Providence."
But this comforting conclusion wavered again, when Berkeley
Fresno, who had awaited their report, scoffed openly.
"He can't run! If he could run he'd be running. I tell you, he can't run as fast as a sheep can walk."
"Senor, you see those beautiful medal he have?" expostulated
Carara.
"Sure," agreed Willie. "His brisket was covered with 'em. He had one that hung down like a dewlap."
"Phony!"