the risk would be about the same, or less, for I might have the spirit
to run harder the more I had to run for--the more spirits I had to run
for, in fact, as it turned out--so I says:

"I think I'll take one of them there flasks of whisky to last us on
the road."

"Right y'are," says Stiffner. "What'll ye have--a small one or a
big one?"

"Oh, a big one, I think--if I can get it into my pocket."

"It'll be a tight squeeze," he said, and he laughed.

"I'll try," I said. "Bet you two drinks I'll get it in."

"Done!" he says. "The top inside coat-pocket, and no tearing."

It was a big bottle, and all my pockets were small; but I got it into
the pocket he'd betted against. It was a tight squeeze, but I got it
in.

Then we both laughed, but his laugh was nastier than usual, because it
was meant to be pleasant, and he'd lost two drinks; and my laugh
wasn't easy--I was anxious as to which of us would laugh next.

Just then I noticed something, and an idea struck me--about the
most up-to-date idea that ever struck me in my life. I noticed that
Stiffner was limping on his right foot this morning, so I said to him: