effectively have drawn all eyes upon him. The weird, shrill yell cut the
ringmaster short, and a pleased murmur ran through the crowd. Of course,
this must be part of the show, but it was a pleasing variation.

"Partner," continued Werther, brushing away the big hand of Drew which
would have pulled him down into his seat; "I've seen you bluff for two
nights hand running. There ain't no man can bluff all the world three
times straight."

The ringmaster retorted in his great voice: "That sounds like good
poker. What's your game?"

"Five hundred dollars on one card!" cried Werther, and he waved a
fluttering handful of greenbacks. "Five hundred dollars to any man of
your lot--or to any man in this house that can ride a real wild horse."

"Where's your horse?"

"Around the corner in a Twenty-sixth Street stable. I'll have him here
in five minutes."

"Lead him on," cried the ringmaster, but his voice was not quite so
loud.

Werther muttered to Drew:

"Here's where I hand him the lemon that'll curdle his cream," and ran
out of the box and straight around the edge of the arena. New York,
murmuring and chuckling through the vast galleries of the Garden,
applauded the little man's flying coat-tails.