“Aw—­that’s all right!  Don’t you worry none about Casey Ryan!  Casey’ll take care of himself—­he’s had too many jolts to want another one.  Say, gimme a pair of them socks before you go in the bank.  I’ll pay yuh,” he grinned, “when yuh come back with some money.  Ain’t got a cent on me, Dwyer.  Give it all away.  Twelve dollars and something.  Down to twenty-five thousand dollars and my Ford auty-mo-bile—­and Bill’s goin’ to buy that off me as soon as he looks her over to see what’s busted and what ain’t.”

Dwyer laughed again as he unlocked the door behind the overalls and jumpers and disappeared into his bank.  Presently he returned with a receipted duplicate deposit slip for twenty-four thousand eight hundred dollars, a little, flat check book and two hundred dollars in worn bank notes.  “You ought to be independent for the rest of your life, Casey.  This is a fine start for any man,” he said.

Casey paid for the socks and slid the change for a ten-dollar bill into his overalls pocket, put the check book and the bank notes away where he had carried the check, and walked out with his hat very much tilted over his right eye and his shoulders swaggering a little.  You can’t blame him for that, can you?

As he stepped from the store he met an old acquaintance from Pinnacle.  There was only one thing to do in a case like that, and Casey did it quite naturally.  They came out of The Club wiping their lips, and the swagger in Casey’s shoulders was more pronounced.

Face to face Casey met the show lady, which was what he called her in his mind.  She had her arms clasped around a large paper sack full of lumpy things, and her eyes had a strained, anxious look.

“Oh, Mister!  I’ve been looking all over for you.  They say we can’t show in this town.  The license for road shows is fifty dollars, to begin with, and I’ve been all over and can’t find a single place where we could show, even if we could pay the license.  Ain’t that the last word in hard luck?  Now what to do beats me, Mister.  We’ve just got to have the old car tinkered up so it’ll carry us on to the next place, wherever that is.  Jack says he must have a new tire by some means or other, and he was counting on what we’d make here.  And up at that other place you’ve mentioned the mumps have broke out and they wouldn’t let us show for love or money.  A man in the drug store told me, Mister.  We certainly are in a hole now, for sure!  If we could give a benefit for something or somebody.  Those men back there said you’re so popular in this town, I believe I’ve got an idea.  Mister, couldn’t you have bad luck, or be sick or something, so we could give a benefit for you?  People certainly would turn out good for a man that’s liked the way they say you are.  I’d just love to put on a show for you.  Couldn’t we fix it up some way?”

Casey looked up and down the street and found it practically empty.  Lund was dining at that hour.  And while Casey expected later the loud greetings, and the handshakes and all, as a matter of fact he had thus far talked with Bill, the garage man, with Dwyer, the storekeeper and banker, and with the man from Pinnacle, who was already making ready to crank his car and go home.  Lund, as a town, was yet unaware of Casey’s presence.