“Certingly, you bet!” said Uncle Billy enthusiastically, yet with a certain nervous abstraction.

“I’m glad ye say so; for yer see I didn’t know at first how you’d tumble to my doing it, until I’d made my pile.  And ef I hadn’t made it, I wouldn’t hev set eyes on ye agin, old pard—­never!”

“Do you mind my runnin’ out a minit,” said Uncle Billy, rising.  “You see, I’ve got a friend waitin’ for me outside—­and I reckon”—­he stammered—­“I’ll jest run out and send him off, so I kin talk comf’ble to ye.”

“Ye ain’t got anybody you’re owin’ money to,” said Uncle Jim earnestly, “anybody follerin’ you to get paid, eh?  For I kin jest set down right here and write ye off a check on the bank!”

“No,” said Uncle Billy.  He slipped out of the door, and ran like a deer to the waiting carriage.  Thrusting a twenty-dollar gold-piece into the coachman’s hand, he said hoarsely, “I ain’t wantin’ that kerridge just now; ye ken drive around and hev a private jamboree all by yourself the rest of the afternoon, and then come and wait for me at the top o’ the hill yonder.”

Thus quit of his gorgeous equipage, he hurried back to Uncle Jim, grasping his ten-thousand dollar draft in his pocket.  He was nervous, he was frightened, but he must get rid of the draft and his story, and have it over.  But before he could speak he was unexpectedly stopped by Uncle Jim.

“Now, look yer, Billy boy!” said Uncle Jim; “I got suthin’ to say to ye—­and I might as well clear it off my mind at once, and then we can start fair agin.  Now,” he went on, with a half laugh, “wasn’t it enough for me to go on pretendin’ I was rich and doing a big business, and gettin’ up that lock-box dodge so as ye couldn’t find out whar I hung out and what I was doin’—­wasn’t it enough for me to go on with all this play-actin’, but you, you long-legged or nary cuss! must get up and go to lyin’ and play-actin’, too!”

“Me play-actin’?  Me lyin’?” gasped Uncle Billy.

Uncle Jim leaned back in his chair and laughed.  “Do you think you could fool me?  Do you think I didn’t see through your little game o’ going to that swell Oriental, jest as if ye’d made a big strike—­and all the while ye wasn’t sleepin’ or eatin’ there, but jest wrastlin’ yer hash and having a roll down at the Good Cheer!  Do you think I didn’t spy on ye and find that out?  Oh, you long-eared jackass-rabbit!”

He laughed until the tears came into his eyes, and Uncle Billy laughed too, albeit until the laugh on his face became quite fixed, and he was fain to bury his head in his handkerchief.

“And yet,” said Uncle Jim, with a deep breath, “gosh!  I was frighted—­jest for a minit!  I thought, mebbe, you had made a big strike—­when I got your first letter—­and I made up my mind what I’d do!  And then I remembered you was jest that kind of an open sluice that couldn’t keep anythin’ to yourself, and you’d have been sure to have yelled it out to me the first thing.  So I waited.  And I found you out, you old sinner!” He reached forward and dug Uncle Billy in the ribs.