Page:Hugh Pendexter--Tiberius Smith.djvu/317

 "‘Will the lions show fight when they revive?' I panted.

"‘Will Feeney ring in actors until we've used up all the dope?' Tib asked, thoughtfully, in return, mechanically giving our cushion another desuetude drop. 'This anger-killer won't last forever,' he added, moodily. Then the swamp-light stole into his eyes again, and I knew some quaint conceit was addling his brain.

"‘All down, Feeney,' he cried, cheerily, dancing towards the paling. 'Set 'em up in the other alley.' "I pulled him back and tried to quiet him, while the aborigines yelped as if afraid of the round, laughing man who hushed lions to sleep. The black hands no longer were shaken at us in derision, but instead were pointed in hesitation, and by the gesticulations and rolling eyes I knew the people were petitioning the chief to hold up his thumb.

"‘I'd like a nice, cool drink from old Champlain,' rambled Tib, playing carelessly with his lion's whiskers. 'O1d Vermont! Recall those lines—I remember, I remember the house where I was born? I can't, but I could if there had been lions in it.' "‘He's about to play another card,' I warned, giving the nearest lion another shot.

"‘We've four lions now,' ruminated Tib, proudly. 'Say, Billy, did you ever try to do a sum in lions?