up and asked if he were sure.

'"I say I am the longest man in the island," he said, "and on that I'll
bet my substance."

'They laid down the bed-plates of a big drink then and there, and put it
aside while they called Jock Coan from his house, near by among the
fireflies' winking.

'"How's a' wi' you?" said Jock, and came in by the side o' the
Sacramento profligate, two inches, or it may have been one, taller than
he.

'"You're long," said the man, opening his eyes. "But I am longer." An'
they sent a whistle through the night an' howkit out Sandy Vowle from
his bit bungalow, and he came in an' stood by the side o' Jock, an' the
pair just fillit the room to the ceiling-cloth.

'The Sacramento man was a euchre-player and a most profane sweerer. "You
hold both Bowers," he said, "but the Joker is with me."

'"Fair an' softly," says Nailor. "Jock, whaur's Lang Lammitter?"

'"Here," says that man, putting his leg through the window and coming in
like an anaconda o' the desert furlong by furlong, one foot in Penang
and one in Batavia, and a hand in North Borneo it may be.

'"Are you suited?" said Nailor, when the hinder end o' Lang Lammitter
was slidden through the sill an' the head of Lammitter was lost in the
smoke away above.