I bet against Mr. Fresno."
"Fresno! So he's out from cover at last, eh?"
"I haven't been under cover," spoke up the Californian. "I've
been wise all along."
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.
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