TIBERIUS SMITH
about and anxiously waiting. The first shot was just a tease for John G., as we now familiarly dubbed the chief, and he danced a sprightly can-can of joy as Tib cried out, 'Dry Lizard Preferred goes up to nine,' and tore off the tape and tossed it to the mob.
"A low croon of sorrow decorated the wake of a young margin player as he sadly carried an armful of losses and dumped them, barking, crawling, and snapping, at the feet of the plunger.
"‘Puts John in good fettle,' chuckled Tib, and as if in answer, John bellowed loudly something that sounded like 'Skowhegan—New Jersey.'
"‘All right, John. Cheer up. The worst is yet to come. Water-Pig's Tooth Consolidated drops to a song,' yelled Tib; and I grinned as the man who patted me with his spear gave a groan and sold his summer stock of beans to keep afloat.
"Dear, dear! I never would have believed the spirit of the thing would get so thickly into Tib's bones. He acted as if he'd like to take a flyer himself. By this time we had a mental inventory of every pup and turtle-shell in the street, and could give a man's rating to a tooth.
"‘I'm going to have a circuit taking in all the tribes on the Beni,' panted Tib, as he fussed with the tape. 'We'll hitch on rubber and clean up the whole busy mart.'
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