"He starts with a case five and runs it up to eight thousand dollars, that's all."
Stover uttered an exclamation of astonishment, whereupon the New-
Yorker grew even bolder.
"The next week he hops over to Bar Harbor and wins the Furturity Ping-pong stakes from scratch. That's worth twenty thousand if it's worth a lead nickel. Oh, I guess he's there, all right!" He searched out a match and relighted his pipe.
"I suppose he's a great croquet-player too," observed Fresno, whose face was purple.
"Sure!" Glass winked at him, glad to see that the Californian enjoyed this kind of sport.
"We don't care nothin' about his skill at sleight-of-hand tricks," said the man in spectacles, seriously. "And we wouldn't hold his croquet habits agin him. Some men drink, some gamble, some do worse; every man has his weakness, and croquet may be his. What we want to know is this: can he win our phonograph?"
"Surest thing you know!"
"Then you vouch for him, do you?" Willie's eyes were bent upon the fat man with a look of searching gravity that warned Glass not to temporize.
"With my life!" exclaimed the trainer.
"You're on!" said the cowboy, with unexpected grimness.