"Tell me how you got
Scottie to lay you two hundred and fifty dollars."
"Oh, that!" said Bill, in great surprise; "that ain't nuthin' much.
Scottie riz slick enough."
"But how did you get him?" persisted Gwen. "Tell me, Bill," she added,
in her most coaxing voice.
"Well," said Bill, "it was easy as rollin' off a log. I made the remark
as how the boys ginerally put up for what they wanted without no fuss,
and that if they was sot on havin' a Gospel shack I cherished the
opinion"--here Gwen went off into a smothered shriek, which made Bill
pause and look at her in alarm.
"Go on," she gasped.
"I cherished the opinion," drawled on Bill, while Gwen stuck her
handkerchief into her mouth, "that mebbe they'd put up for it the seven
hundred dollars, and, even as it was, seein' as The Pilot appeared to be
sot on to it, if them fellers would find two hundred and fifty I cher--"
another shriek from Gwen cut him suddenly short.
"It's the rheumaticks, mebbe," said Bill, anxiously. "Terrible bad
weather for 'em. I get 'em myself."
"No, no," said Gwen, wiping away her tears and subduing her laughter.
"Go on, Bill."
"There ain't no more," said Bill. "He bit, and the master here put it
down."
"Yes, it's here right enough," I said, "but I don't suppose you mean to
follow it up, do you?"
"You don't, eh? Well, I am not responsible for your supposin', but them
that is familiar with Bronco Bill generally expects him to back up his
undertakin's.
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