He looks at the supplicant doubtfully; "Well, I dunno," he says, "where was it you wanted to drive to ?" He receives the answer with a non-committal air.

"That's nearer fourteen mile than ten," he says and then turns to the hostler.

"Say, Potts, Billy's out, ain't he ?" Potts growls out the answer, "Doc Weaver's got him out.

Won't be back till seven." The liveryman pulls slowly at his cigar, and runs his hand over his hair.

"How's the bay mare's hoof today ?" he asks.