TIBERIUS SMITH
"And the dogs, still warm from the chief's proprietary kicks, were turned back to their former owners, plus several more. And I was now firmly convinced we were through our little experience.
"‘Why did you? How dared you?' I murmured, as the chief struggled to get at us.
"‘He must be taught not to welch. I want him to feel to-night, when eating baked pup, as if he was bolting a government bond,' returned Tib, grimly, but holding the tape so he could shift it to a life-saving figure if necessary. 'There! He's calming down. The tall, sparsely clothed man has quieted him. It's his brother, Wogo says. He's the original Henry H. R. of the ring. He's been scalping a few pints of beans and an odd dog or so on every turn this morning. Watch him. He's more dangerous than the bluff, quick-tempered John. He just loaned a minor a dog to put up in margins and has collected a pup as interest. Hm! Let's see. What's his rating?'
"‘He's got pig's teeth by the bushel,' I whispered.
"‘Ha! Already, gents. Something stirring in Tooth Consolidated. Now watch the tight-wad, Billy.' And the bit of bark he tossed them whip-sawed Henry into bankruptcy.
"Well, well, you never saw a man so amazed. He'd played such a close game he believed no one could annex his roll. It was almost pathetic to be-
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