"How do you know he ain't?"
"Now don't you worry how we know, Bill. We know, and you can bet on that. It's like I told you, we've figured this thing out to the last li'l detail. We——"
"You bet we have," cut in Tip quickly. "For the last time, Bill, hadn't you better change your mind?"
"I couldn't change it for the last time till I'd changed it at least two other times, Tip," Billy drawled, one-half his brain busy trying to fathom why Tip should have interrupted Craft so brusquely. Tip never did anything without reason. Never. And why was Craft so unnaturally sure that he could hold up the stage without being shot? Unnaturally, exactly. Because Felix Craft was one not given to explaining anything he did. Yet in this instance he had taken the trouble to explain at some length. Why?
Billy tilted back on the rear legs of his chair, cocked his heels up on the table and stared at the ceiling.
"Well, how about it?" Tip demanded impatiently. "You going to be sensible?"
Billy waved a hand for silence and then sang in a whining bobtail bass:
"Barney Bodkin broke his nose:
Want of money makes us sad;
Without feet we can't have toes;
Crazy folks are always mad;
A nickel candle's very small;
Many fiddlers can't play jigs;
One that's dumb can never bawl;
Pickled pork is made of pigs.
"Ain't that a nice song?" Billy broke off, glancing round him for praise. "Lot of truth in that song, too. Especially that part about crazy folks. They always are mad—like you and Felix, Tip, and our fat friend, Mr. Samuel Larder. Why all the delay, Felix? If you really are gonna to be a bold bad man, go'n and be one. Don't dally round here any longer. Suppose you miss the stage? You'd be disappointed. So would I. Because I don't want anything to prevent you from having a fair crack at it. I'd like you to have every chance—but I forgot, you ain't taking any chances, are you? This is a sure thing."
Billy, through half-shut eyes, was watching the men he was talking to. He was watching Sam Larder especially. For Sam was not a good poker player. Never had been. His plump features were too expressive. And now the open-faced Sam was looking at Billy with a slightly worried expression. Furthermore, the worry was tinged with some astonishment. At least, so it seemed to Billy. Again why?