"White folks 'n 'is house know 'im heap longer'n you. You the on'y
man bettin' on 'im!"
"I risk it!" cried George, merrily. "I put her all on now--ev'y cent!
'At boy's go' be flower o' the flock!"
This singular prophecy, founded somewhat recklessly upon gratitude for
the meaning of "lamiDAL," differed radically from another prediction
concerning Bibbs, set forth for the benefit of a fair auditor some
twenty minutes later.
Jim Sheridan, skirting the edges of the town with Mary Vertrees
beside him, in his own swift machine, encountered the invalid upon
the highroad. The two cars were going in opposite directions, and
the occupants of Jim's had only a swaying glimpse of Bibbs sitting
alone on the back seat--his white face startlingly white against cap
and collar of black fur--but he flashed into recognition as Mary
bowed to him.
Jim waved his left hand carelessly. "It's Bibbs, taking his
constitutional," he explained.
"Yes, I know," said Mary. "I bowed to him, too, though I've never
met him. In fact, I've only seen him once--no, twice. I hope he
won't think I'm very bold, bowing to him."
"I doubt if he noticed it," said honest Jim.
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