What's your game ?" "Five hundred dollars on one card!" cried Werther, and he waved a fluttering handful of greenbacks.

"Five hundred dollars to any man of your lot--or to any man in this house that can ride a real wild horse." "Where's your horse ?" "Around the corner in a Twenty-sixth Street stable.

I'll have him here in five minutes." "Lead him on," cried the ringmaster, but his voice was not quite so loud.
Werther muttered to Drew: "Here's where I hand him the lemon that'll curdle his cream," and ran out of the box and straight around the edge of the arena.

New York, murmuring and chuckling through the vast galleries of the Garden, applauded the little man's flying coat-tails.
He had not underestimated the time; in a little less than his five minutes the doors at the end of the arena were thrown wide and Werther reappeared.

Behind him came two stalwarts leading between them a rangy monster.