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Biff Bates, ex-champion middle-weight, to these imported artists, but, very much to his surprise, Signorina Caravaggio and Professor Bates struck up an instant and animated conversation anent Biff's well-known and justly-famous victory over Slammer Young, and so interested did they become in this conversation that instead of Biff's sitting up in the front seat, as Bobby had intended, the eminent instructor of athletics manoeuvered the Herr Professor into that post of honor and climbed into the tonneau with Signor Ricardo and the Signorina, with the latter of whom he talked most volubly all the way over, to the evidently vast annoyance of Der Grosse Tenore.
"And them would be liking you," said Biff with certainty. As soon as the visitors finished eating, the kindly Droff led them to an adjacent valley wherein they saw bright lights. These, as Hootsey explained, were the Saber-Toothed Light Bulbs themselves. From a distance, they looked pretty much like ordinary light bulbs.
No dumb-bells or clubs for fifteen minutes in the morning but astride a horse, his thighs gripping a bare-back, roaming the hills day after day the kind of outdoor experience that hardens a man all over without specializing his biceps or his running gear. Little Biff never had any swing to his gait none that his fellows ever noticed. Biff went in for repose sometimes hours at a time.
Sometimes it comes early in the season, and again a show goes along until almost the end of the season without a shake-up, and fellows think maybe there is not going to be any wreck, but the engineers are only waiting till everybody has forgotten about it, and then, biff, bang, and they have run into another train, or been run into, and you have to be pulled out of a window by the heels, and laid out in a marsh until the claim agents can settle with you.
Ripley moved away Biff moved also. Ripley introduced Biff in much the same terms to a tall man who was oiling the big, old-fashioned Corliss, and a sudden gleam came into the tall man's eyes as he recognized Mr. Bates, but he turned back to his oiling without smile or comment. Ripley eyed him sharply.
"That's what they call 'zero. You can bet on it like any number; but when it comes, if you're not on it, all your stakes go biff! except on the simple chances, when you are put in 'prison, or else you can take back half. Lots of people like zero better than anything, because they think the croupiers try to spin it, for the good of the bank. It's called l'ami de la maison."
"Biff!" came the palm of the Kid's powerful hand upon the policeman's mouth. Kohen staggered and rallied. Molly screamed. The detective threw himself upon Brady and with Kohen's aid got the nippers on his wrist. "The scarf is vort $12 and the muff is vort $9," persisted the policeman. "Vot is dis talk about $1,000 saples?" The Kid sat upon a pile of lumber and his face turned dark red.
And as I realized that probably this was just a part of the regular day's work, a bit of ordinary strafing, and not a feature of a grand attack, I took note of the rhythm. It went something like this, as near as I can gie it to you in print: "Roamin' in the PUH LAH gloamin' BAM! "On the WHUFF! BOOM! bonny BR-R-R! banks o' BIFF Clyde ZOW!" And so it went all through the rest of the concert.
"Halt that gasoline gadabout o' yourn instanter." "What for, you old Rube?" "Old Rube am I?" sputtered Biff, feeling that the law had been insulted in his person, "jes' fer thet yer under 'rest." "What for?" demanded the driver of the red car angrily. "Fer running daown and grievously wounding a man and then speedin' off without stoppin' ter see if you'd killed him dead or what all.
It's in easy rifle shot o' both ther cabin an' ther shaft, an' that Biff Farnham is mighty liable ter git another shock when he comes traipsin' up yere fer ter wipe out ther 'Little Yankee. Ol' Bill Hicks ain't bin prospectin' fer thirty years, an' holdin' down claims with a gun, without learnin' somethin' about ther business.
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