them out, counted them, thrust a portion into his pocket, and handed the
rest back to Darrell.

"There you are," said he. He shouted an order into the darkness of the
stable.

An interval ensued. The stableman and Tally waited imperturbably,
without the faintest expression of interest in anything evident on their
immobile countenances. Dicky Darrell rocked back and forth on his heels,
a pleased smile on his face.

After a few moments the stable boy led out a horse hitched to the most
ramshackle and patched-up old side-bar buggy Bob had ever beheld.
Darrell, after several vain attempts, managed to clamber aboard. He
gathered up the reins, and, with exaggerated care, drove into the middle
of the street.

Then suddenly he rose to his feet, uttered an ear-piercing exultant
yell, hurled the reins at the horse's head and began to beat the animal
with his whip. The horse, startled, bounded forward. The buggy jerked.
Darrell sat down violently, but was at once on his feet, plying the
whip. The crazed man and the crazed horse disappeared up the street, the
buggy careening from side to side, Darrell yelling at the top of his
lungs. The stableman watched him out of sight.

"Roaring Dick of the Woods!" said he thoughtfully at last. He thrust
his hand in his pocket and took out the wad of greenbacks, contemplated
them for a moment, and thrust them back. He caught Tally's eye. "Funny
what different ideas men have of a time," said he.