"
The stableman and Tally lit their pipes. Nobody seemed much interested
now that the amusement was over. Bob owned a boyish desire to follow the
wake of the cyclone, but in the presence of this imperturbability, he
repressed his inclination.
"Some day the damn fool will bust his head open," said the liveryman,
after a ruminative pause.
"I shouldn't think you'd rent him a horse," said Bob.
"He pays," yawned the other.
At the end of the half-hour the liveryman dove into his office for a
coat, which he put on. This indicated that he contemplated exercising in
the sun instead of sitting still in the shade.
"Well, let's look him up," said he. "This may be the time he busts his
fool head."
"Hope not," was Tally's comment; "can't afford to lose a foreman."
But near the outskirts of town they met Roaring Dick limping painfully
down the middle of the road. His hat was gone and he was liberally
plastered with the soft mud of early spring.
Not one word would he vouchsafe, but looked at them all malevolently.
His intoxication seemed to have evaporated with his good spirits. As
answer to the liveryman's question as to the whereabouts of the smashed
rig, he waved a comprehensive hand toward the suburbs.
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