reminded him. "Who's that gent who come down the road just a bit ahead
of me--him with the cape-coat! Has he got anything to do with the
fight?"

"Him?" repeated Keppler in tones of sincere disgust. "No-oh, he ain't
no sport. He's queer, Dad thinks. He come here one day last week about
ten in the morning, said his doctor told him to go out 'en the country
for his health. He's stuck up and citified, and wears gloves, and
takes his meals private in his room, and all that sort of ruck. They
was saying in the saloon last night that they thought he was hiding
from something, and Dad, just to try him, asks him last night if he
was coming to see the fight. He looked sort of scared, and said he
didn't want to see no fight. And then Dad says, 'I guess you mean you
don't want no fighters to see you.' Dad didn't mean no harm by it,
just passed it as a joke; but Mr. Carleton, as he calls himself, got
white as a ghost an' says, 'I'll go to the fight willing enough,' and
begins to laugh and joke. And this morning he went right into the bar-
room, where all the sports were setting, and said he was going into
town to see some friends; and as he starts off he laughs an' says,
'This don't look as if I was afraid of seeing people, does it?' but
Dad says it was just bluff that made him do it, and Dad thinks that if
he hadn't said what he did, this Mr. Carleton wouldn't have left his
room at all."

Gallegher had got all he wanted, and much more than he had hoped for--
so much more that his walk back to the station was in the nature of a
triumphal march.

He had twenty minutes to wait for the next train, and it seemed an
hour. While waiting he sent a telegram to Hefflefinger at his hotel.