safe chance to scalp the market for a couple of cents a bushel, and I bought 10,000 September, intending to turn over the profits to you as a little present, so that you could see the town and have a good time without it's costing you anything."
The Deacon judged from Bill's expression that he had got nipped and was going to try to unload the loss on him, so he changed his face to the one which he used when attending the funeral of any one who hadn't been a professor, and came back quick and hard:
"I'm surprised, William, that you should think I would accept money made in gambling. Let this be a lesson to you. How much did you lose?"
"That's the worst of it—I didn't lose; I made two hundred dollars," and Bill hove another sigh.
"Made two hundred dollars!" echoed the Deacon, and he changed his face again for the one which he used when he found a lead
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