t money."

Nels Nelson stooped deliberately and went on washing the horse's legs.
A look of irritation swept over the placid face of G. B. Stiles, and
he slipped the toothpick back in his vest pocket and walked away.

"I say," called the Swede after him. "You gif me dot paper. Eh?"

"I can't stand talking to you here. You'll promise to swear to all you
told me when I was here the first time. If you do that, you are sure
of the money, and if you change it in the least, or show the least
sign of backing down, we neither of us get it. Understand?"

Again the Swede arose, and stood looking at him sullenly. "It iss ten
t'ousand tallers, und I get it half, eh?"

"Oh, you go to thunder!" The proprietor of the hotel came around the
corner of the stable, and G. B. Stiles addressed himself to him. "I'd
like the use of a horse to-day, and your man here, if I can get him.
I've got to make a trip to Rigg's Corners to sell some dry goods. Got
a good buggy?"

"Yes, and a horse you can drive yourself, if you like. Be gone all
day?"

"No, don't want to fool with a horse--may want to stay and send the
horse back--if I find a place where the grub is better than it is
here. See?"

"You'll be back after one meal at any place within a hundred miles of
here." The proprietor laughed.

"Might as well drive yourself. You won't want to send the horse back.
I'm short of drivers just now. Times are bad and travel light, so I
let one go."

"I'll take the Swede there."

"He's my station hand. Maybe Jake can drive you. Nels, where's Jake?"

"He's dere in the stable. Shake!" he shouted, without glancing up, and
Jake slouched out into the yard.

"Jake, here's a gentleman wants you to drive him out into the
country,--"

"I'll take the Swede. Jake can drive your station wagon for once."

G. B. Stiles laughed good-humoredly and returned to the piazza and sat
tilted back with his feet on the rail not far from Harry King, who was
intently reading the _New York Tribune_. For a while he eyed the young
man covertly, then dropped his feet to the floor and turned upon him
with a question on the political situation, and deliberately engaged
him in conversation, which Harry King entered into courteously yet
reluctantly. Evidently he was preoccupied with affairs of his own.

In the stable yard a discussion was going on. "Dot horse no goot in
buggy. Better you sell heem any vay. He yoomp by de cars all tam, und
he no goot by buggy."

"Well, you