Something in the tingle of it, however, seemed to quicken his faculties.
"Sell me that block, Mr.Courtney," he suggested with a sudden inspiration.
The mad mob rose to its feet just then and pleaded with Sweeney to "Hit 'er out!" Shrieks, howls and bellows resounded upon every hand; purple-faced fans held their clenched fists tight to their breasts so that they could implore the louder.
"On what terms ?" shouted Courtney into Johnny's ear.
"I'll take over your contract," yelled Johnny beneath Courtney's hat brim.
"On what terms ?" repeated Courtney at the top of his voice.
"Bless your heart, Sweeney, slam it!" shrieked the now crimson-visaged colonel.

He was standing on his chair, with distended eyes, and waving his hat violently.
"Your original price!" loudly called Johnny.

"Pay you fifteen thousand now, fifty thousand in thirty days and the balance in sixty." Sweeney fanned.

The atrocious tumult was drowned, in the twinkling of an eyelash, in a dismal depthless gulf of painful silence.

One could have heard a mosquito wink.
"Where's my security ?" bellowed Courtney in Johnny's ear, so vociferously that all the grandstand turned in that direction and three park policemen headed for the riot.
"Just come outside and I'll tell you," whispered Johnny with a grin.
"Ashley, how do you like your car ?" asked Polly in the groaning calm which followed Sweeney's infamous strike-out.
"I'm just designing a private medal for the builder," replied Loring.
"Self-cranker, isn't it ?" "Self-cranker, automatic oiler, and supplies its own gasolene.